<^  <^  y  2.  5   ^,5 


BOOK    8  17. 2. IRS   v.5    c.  1 

IRVING    #    WORKS    OF    WASHINGTON 

IRVING 


3    T153    0D157flm    7 


This  book  may  be  kept 


PLEASE  NOTE 

It  has  been  necessary  to  replace  some  of  the  original 
pages  in  this  book  with  photocopy  reproductions 
because  of  damage  or  mistreatment  by  a  previous 
user. 

Replacement  of  damaged  materials  is  both  expensive 
and  time-consuming.  Please  handle  this  volume  with 
care  so  that  information  will  not  be  lost  to  future 
readers. 

Thank  you  for  helping  to  preserve  the  University's 
research  collections. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

LYRASIS  members  and  Sloan  Foundation 


http://www.archive.org/details/talesoftraveller1865irvi 


THE.    BOLD     DRAGOON 


TALIS  OF  A  TEATELLEE 


BY  WASHINGTON   IRVING 


^^^ 


:  17  A  ¥  S     SONS 


HUDSON   EDITION 


TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER 


BT 


GEOFFEEY  CEAYOI^,  Gent. 

AUTHOR      OF      "the      SKETCH     BOOK."      '■  BRACEBRIDGE      HALL,"      "KNICKERBOCKER'S 

NEW     YORK,"      ETC. 


I  am  neither  your  minotaure,  nor  your  centanre,  nor  your  satyr,  uor  your  hyaena,  nor 
your  babiuii,  but  your  meer  traveller  believe  me.— Bt;N  Johnson 


THE  AUTHOR'S  REVISED  EDITION 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME 


NEW  YORK 

G.   p.    PUTNAM'H    SONS 

27  AND  29  West  25D  Street 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1865,  by 

George  P.  Putnam, 

. n  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District 
of  New  York. 


COH'TEITTS. 


PAET  I. 

STRANGE  STORIES  BY  A  NERVOUS  GENTLEMAN. 

FAOB 

Thb  Great  Unknown 19 

The  Hunting-Dinner 21 

The  Adventure  of  my  Uncle 28 

The  Adventure  of  my  Aunt 46 

The  Bold  Dragoon,  or  the  Adventure  of  my  Grandfather...  53 

The  Adventure  of  the  German  Student 66 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mysterious  Picture 75 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mysterious  Stranger 88 

The  Story  of  the  Young  Italian 100 

PAET  II. 

buckthorne  and  his  friends. 

Literary  Life 143 

A  Literary  Dinner 147 

The  Club  of  Queer  Fellows 152 

The  Poor-Devil  Author 160 

Notoriety 188 

A  Practical  Philosopher 192 

7 


Ix^ 


8  CONTENTS. 

BUCKTHORNB,  OR  THE  YOUNQ  MaN  OF  GrEAT  EXPECTATIONS 195 

Grate  Reflections  of  a  Disappointed  Man 272 

The  Booby  Squire 280 

The  Strolling  Manager 288 


PAKT  in. 

THE   ITALIAN   BANDITTI. 

The  Inn  at  Terracina 313 

The  Adventure  of  the  Little  Antiquary 333 

The  Belated  Travellers 345 

The  Adventure  of  the  Popkins  Family 369 

The  Painter's  Adventure 377 

The  Story  of  the  Bandit  Chieftain 390 

The  Story  of  the  Young  Robber 407 

The  Adventure  of  the  Englishman 424 


PAET  lY. 

THE   MONEY-DIGGERS. 

Hell-Gate 435 

Kidd  the  Pirate 440 

The  Devil  and  Tom  Walker 449 

WoLFERT  Webber,  or  Golden  Dreams 470 

The  Adventure  of  the  Black  Fisherman 503 


List  of  Illusteations. 


FAGB 

View  from  the  Villa  Reale,  Naples , Front. 

Adtenture  of  the  Black  Fisherman Title. 

The  Little  Antiquary *' 

The  Bold  Dragoon 63 

The  Death  of  Filippo 136 

Discussion  between  Mr.  Dribble  Am)  his  Friend  in  Green 176 

Buckthorne  and  the  Shopkeeper's  Daughter 248 

The  Little  Antiquary  and  his  Hosts *     336 

The  Englishman's  Adventure 428 

Aldermanic  Recreation 446 

Death  of  the  Mysterious  Stranger 514 


TO    THE    READER. 

ORTHY  AND  Deab  Readek! — Hast  thou  ever 
been  waylaid  in  the  midst  of  a  pleasant  tour  by- 
some  treacherous  malady  :  thy  heels  tripped  up, 
and  thou  left  to  count  the  tedious  minutes  as  they  passed, 
in  the  solitude  of  an  inn-chamber?  If  thou  hast,  thou 
wilt  be  able  to  pity  me.  Behold  me,  interrupted  in  the 
course  of  my  journeying  up  the  fair  banks  of  the  Rhine, 
and  laid  up  by  indisposition  in  this  old  frontier  town  of 
Mentz.  I  have  worn  out  every  source  of  amusement.  I 
know  the  sound  of  every  clock  that  strikes,  and  bell  that 
rings,  in  the  place.  I  know  to  a  second  when  to  listen  for 
the  first  tap  of  the  Prussian  drum,  as  it  summons  the 
garrison  to  parade,  or  at  what  hour  to  expect  the  distant 
sound  of  the  Austrian  military  band.  All  these  have 
grown  wearisome  to  me ;  and  even  the  well-known  step  of 
my  doctor,  as  he  slowly  paces  the  corridor,  with  healing 
in  the  creak  of  his  shoes,  no  longer  affords  an  agreeable 
interruption  to  the  monotony  of  my  apartment. 

For  a  time  I  attempted  to  beguile  the  weary  hours  by 
studying  German  under  the  tuition  of  mine  host's  pretty 
little  daughter,  Katrine  ;  but  I  soon  found  even  German 

had  not  power  to  charm  a  languid  ear,  and  that  the  con- 

11 


12  TO  THE  READER. 

jugating  of  ich  liehe  might  be  powerless,  however  rosy  the 
lips  which  littered  it. 

I  tried  to  read,  but  my  mind  would  not  fix  itself.  I 
turned  over  volume  after  volume,  but  threw  them  by  with 
distaste  :  "Well,  then,"  said  I  at  length,  in  despair,  "if  I 
cannot  read  a  book,  I  will  write  one."  Never  was  there 
a  more  lucky  idea;  it  at  once  gave  me  occupation  and 
amusement.  The  writing  of  a  book  was  considered  in  old 
times  as  an  enterprise  of  toil  and  difficulty,  insomuch  that 
the  most  trifling  lucubration  was  denominated  a  "work," 
and  the  world  talked  with  awe  and  reverence  of  "the 
labors  of  the  learned."  These  matters  are  better  under- 
stood nowadays. 

Thanks  to  the  improvements  in  all  kind  of  manufac- 
tures, the  art  of  book-making  has  been  made  familiar  to 
the  meanest  capacity.  Everybody  is  an  author.  The 
scribbling  of  a  quarto  is  the  mere  pastime  of  the  idle ; 
the  young  gentleman  throws  off  his  brace  of  duodecimos 
in  the  intervals  of  the  sporting-season,  and  the  young 
lady  produces  her  set  of  volumes  with  the  same  facility 
that  her  great-grandmother  worked  a  set  of  chair-bot- 
toms. 

The  idea  having  struck  me,  therefore,  to  write  a  book, 
the  reader  will  easily  perceive  that  the  execution  of  it 
was  no  difficult  matter.  I  rummaged  my  portfolio,  and 
cast  about,  in  my  recollection,  for  those  floating  materials 
which  a  man  naturally  collects  in  travelling  ;  and  here  I 
have  arranged  them  in  this  little  work. 


TO  TEE  READER.  13 

As  I  know  this  to  be  a  story- telling  and  a  sfcory-reading 
age,  and  that  the  world  is  fond  of  being  taught  by 
apologue,  I  have  digested  the  instruction  I  would  convey 
into  a  number  of  tales.  They  may  not  possess  the  power 
of  amusement  which  the  tales  told  by  many  of  my  con- 
temporaries possess ;  but  then  I  value  myself  on  the 
so  and  moral  which  each  of  them  contains.  This  may  not 
be  apparent  at  first,  but  the  reader  will  be  sure  to  find  it 
out  in  the  end.  I  am  for  curing  the  world  by  gentle 
alteratives,  not  by  violent  doses;  indeed,  the  patient 
should  never  be  conscious  that  he  is  taking  a  dose.  I 
have  learnt  this  much  from  experience  under  the  hands 
of  the  worthy  Hippocrates  of  Mentz. 

I  am  not,  therefore,  for  those  barefaced  tales  which 
carry  their  moral  on  the  surface,  staring  one  in  the  face  ; 
they  are  enough  to  deter  the  squeamish  reader.  On  the 
contrary,  I  have  often  hid  my  moral  from  sight,  and  dis- 
guised it  as  much  as  possible  by  sweets  and  spices,  so 
that  while  the  simple  reader  is  listening  with  open 
mouth  to  a  ghost  or  a  love  story,  he  may  have  a  bolus 
of  sound  morality  popped  down  his  throat,  and  be 
never  the  wiser  for  the  fraud. 

As  the  public  is  apt  to  be  curious  about  the  sources 
whence  an  author  draws  his  stories,  doubtless  that  it 
may  know  how  far  to  put  faith  in  them,  I  would  observe, 
that  the  Adventure  of  the  German  Student,  or  rather  the 
latter  part  of  it,  is  founded  on  an  anecdote  related  to  me 
as  existing  somewhere  in  French ;  and,  indeed,  I  have 


14  TO  THE  HEADER. 

been  told,  since  writing  it,  that  an  ingenious  tale  has 
been  founded  on  it  by  an  English  writer;  but  I  have 
never  met  with  either  the  former  or  the  latter  in  print. 
Some  of  the  circumstances  in  the  Adventure  of  the  Mys- 
terious Picture,  and  in  the  Story  of  the  Young  Italian, 
are  vague  recollections  of  anecdotes  related  to  me  some 
years  since ;  but  from  what  source  derived,  I  do  not 
know.  The  Adventure  of  the  Young  Painter  among  the 
banditti  is  taken  almost  entirely  from  an  authentic  narra- 
tive in  manuscript. 

As  to  the  other  tales  contained  in  this  work,  and  in- 
deed to  my  tales  generally,  I  can  make  but  one  observa- 
tion :  I  am  an  old  traveller ;  I  have  read  somewhat, 
heard  and  seen  more,  and  dreamt  more  than  all.  My 
brain  is  filled,  therefore,  with  all  kinds  of  odds  and  ends. 
In  travelling,  these  heterogeneous  matters  have  become 
shaken  up  in  my  mind,  as  the  articles  are  apt  to  be  in 
an  ill-packed  travelling-trunk ;  so  that  when  I  attempt 
to  draw  forth  a  fact,  I  cannot  determine  whether  I  have 
read,  heard,  or  dreamt  it ;  and  I  am  always  at  a  loss  to 
know  how  much  to  believe  of  my  own  stories. 

These  matters  being  premised,  fall  to,  worthy  reader, 
with  good  appetite  ;  and,  above  all,  with  good-humor  to 
what  is  here  set  before  thee.  If  the  tales  I  have  fur- 
nished should  prove  to  be  bad,  they  will  at  least  be 
found  short ;  so  that  no  one  will  be  wearied  long  on  the 
same  theme.  "  Variety  is  charming,"  as  some  poet  ob- 
serves. 


TO  TBE  READEM.  15 

There  is  a  certain  relief  in  change,  even  though  it  be 
from  bad  to  worse !  As  I  have  often  found  in  travelling 
in  a  stage-coach,  that  it  is  often  a  comfort  to  shift  one's 
position,  and  be  bruised  in  a  new  place. 

Ever  tnme, 

Geoffbey  Ceayon. 

Dated  from  the  Hotel  de  Darmstadt, 
ci-devant  Hotel  de  Paris, 

Mentz,  otherwise  called  Mayencb, 


PAET  FIEST. 


STEANGE    STORIES 

BY 

A  NERVOUS  GENTLEMAN. 

I'll  tell  you  more,  there  was  a  fish  taken, 

A  monstrous  fish,  with  a  sword  by's  side,  a  long  sword, 

A  pike  in's  neck,  and  a  gun  in's  nose,  a  huge  gun, 

And  letters  of  mart  in's  mouth  from  the  Duke  of  Florence. 

Cleanthes. — This  is  a  monstrous  lie. 

Tcmy. —  I  do  confess  it. 

Do  you  think  I'd  tell  you  truths  ? 

Fletchek's  Wife  for  a  MontK 


Tales  of  a  Teaveller 


THE  GEEAT  UNKNOWN. 

HE  following  adventures  were  related  to  me  by 
the  same  nervous  gentleman  wlio  told  me  the 
romantic  tale  of  the  Stout  Gentleman,  pub- 
lished in  "  Bracebridge  Hall."  It  is  very  singular,  that, 
although  I  expressly  stated  that  story  to  have  been  told 
to  me,  and  described  the  very  person  who  told  it,  still  it 
has  been  received  as  an  adventure  that  happened  to  my- 
self. Now  I  protest  I  never  met  with  any  adventure  of 
the  kind.  I  should  not  have  grieved  at  this,  had  it  not 
been  intimated  by  the  author  of  "  Waverley,"  in  an  in- 
troduction to  his  novel  of  "  Peveril  of  the  Peak,"  that  he 
was  himself  the  stout  gentleman  alluded  to.  I  have  ever 
since  been  importuned  by  questions  and  letters  from  gen- 
tlemen, and  particularly  from  ladies  without  number, 
touching  what  I  had  seen  of  the  Great  Unknown. 

Now  all  this  is  extremely  tantalizing.     It  is  like  being 
congratulated  on  the  high  prize  when  one  has  drawn  a 

blank ;  for  I  have  just  as  great  a  desire  as  any  one  of  the 

19 


20  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLER, 

public  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  that  very  singulai 
personage,  whose  voice  fills  every  corner  of  the  world, 
without  any  one  being  able  to  tell  whence  it  comes. 

My  friend,  the  nervous  gentleman,  also,  who  is  a  man 
of  very  shy,  retired  habits,  complains  that  he  has  been 
excessively  annoyed  in  consequence  of  its  getting  about  in 
his  neighborhood  that  he  is  the  fortunate  personage.  In- 
somuch, that  he  has  become  a  character  of  considerable 
notoriety  in  two  or  three  country-towns,  and  has  been 
repeatedly  teased  to  exhibit  himself  at  blue-stock- 
ing parties,  for  no  other  reason  than  that  of  being  "  the 
gentleman  who  has  had  a  glimpse  of  the  author  of 
*Waverley."' 

Indeed  the  poor  man  has  grown  ten  times  as  nervous 
as  ever  since  he  has  discovered,  on  such  good  authority, 
who  the  stout  gentleman  was ;  and  will  never  forgive 
himself  for  not  having  made  a  more  resolute  effort  to  get 
a  full  sight  of  him.  He  has  anxiously  endeavored  to  call 
up  a  recollection  of  what  he  saw  of  that  portly  personage ; 
and  has  ever  since  kept  a  curious  eye  on  all  gentlemen  of 
more  than  ordinary  dimensions,  whom  he  has  seen  get- 
ting into  stage-coaches.  All  in  vain!  The  features  he 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  seem  common  to  the  whole  race 
of  stout  gentlemen,  and  the  Great  Unknown  remains  as 
great  an  unknown  as  ever. 

Having  premised  these  circumstances,  I  will  now  let 
the  nervous  gentleman  proceed  with  his  stories. 


THE    HUNTING-DINNER. 

I  WAS  once  at  a  hunting-dinner,  given  by  a  wor- 
thy fox-hunting  old  Baronet,  who  kept  bache- 
lor's hall  in  jovial  style  in  an  ancient  rook- 
haunted  family-mansion,  in  one  of  the  middle  counties. 
He  had  been  a  devoted  admirer  of  the  fair  sex  in  his 
younger  days ;  but,  having  travelled  much,  studied  the 
sex  in  various  countries  with  distinguished  success,  and 
returned  home  profoundly  instructed,  as  he  supposed,  in 
the  ways  of  woman,  and  a  perfect  master  of  the  art  of 
pleasing,  had  the  mortification  of  being  jilted  by  a  little 
boarding-school  girl,  who  was  scarcely  versed  in  the  ac- 
cidence of  love. 

The  Baronet  was  completely  overcome  by  such  an  in- 
credible defeat ;  retired  from  the  world  in  disgust ;  put 
himself  under  the  government  of  his  housekeeper ;  and 
took  to  fox-hunting  like  a  perfect  Nimrod.  Whatever 
poets  may  say  to  the  contrary,  a  man  will  grow  out  of 
love  as  he  grows  old;  and  a  pack  of  fox-hounds  may 
chase  out  of  his  heart  even  the  memory  of  a  boarding- 
school  goddess.     The  Baronet  was,  when  I  saw  him,  as 

merry  and  mellow  an  old  bachelor  as  ever  followed  a 

21 


22  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB 

hound ;  and  the  love  he  had  once  felt  for  one  woman  had 
spread  itself  over  the  whole  sex,  so  that  there  was  not  a 
pretty  face  in  the  whole  country  round  but  came  in  for  a 
share. 

The  dinner  was  prolonged  till  a  late  hour ;  for  our  host 
having  no  ladies  in  his  household  to  summon  us  to  the 
drawing-room,  the  bottle  maintained  its  true  bachelor 
sway,  unrivalled  by  its  potent  enemy,  the  tea-kettle. 
The  old  hall  in  which  we  dined  echoed  to  bursts  of  ro- 
bustious fox-hunting  merriment,  that  made  the  ancient 
antlers  shake  on  the  walls.  By  degrees,  however,  the 
wine  and  the  wassail  of  mine  host  began  to  operate  upon 
bodies  already  a  little  jaded  by  the  chase.  The  choice 
spirits  which  flashed  up  at  the  beginning  of  the  dinner, 
sparkled  for  a  time,  then  gradually  went  out  one  after 
another,  or  only  emitted  now  and  then  a  faint  gleam  from 
the  socket.  Some  of  the  briskest  talkers,  who  had  given 
tongue  so  bravely  at  the  first  burst,  fell  fast  asleep  ;  and 
none  kept  on  their  way  but  certain  of  those  long-winded 
prosers,  who,  like  short-legged  hounds,  worry  on  un- 
noticed at  the  bottom  of  conversation,  but  are  sure  to  be 
in  at  the  death.  Even  these  at  length  subsided  into  si- 
lence ;  and  scarcely  anything  was  heard  but  the  nasal 
communications  of  two  or  three  veteran  masticators,  who 
having  been  silent  while  awake,  were  indemnifying  the 
company  in  their  sleep. 

At  length  the  announcement  of  tea  and  coffee  in  the 
cedar-parlor  roused  all  hands  from  this  temporary  tor- 


THE  RUNTING-DINNEB.  23 

por.  Every  one  awoke  marvellously  renovated,  and 
wliile  sipping  the  refreshing  beverage  out  of  the  Baro- 
net's old-fashioned  hereditary  china,  began  to  think  of 
departing  for  their  several  homes.  But  here  a  sudden 
difficulty  arose.  While  we  had  been  prolonging  our  re- 
past, a  heavy  winter  storm  had  set  in,  with  snow,  rain, 
and  sleet,  driven  by  such  bitter  blasts  of  wind,  that  they 
threatened  to  penetrate  to  the  very  bone. 

"It's  all  in  vain,"  said  our  hospitable  host,  "to  think 
of  putting  one's  head  out  of  doors  in  such  weather.  So, 
gentlemen,  I  hold  you  my  guests  for  this  night  at  least, 
and  will  have  your  quarters  prepared  accordingly." 

The  unruly  weather,  which  became  more  and  more 
tempestuous,  rendered  the  hospitable  suggestion  unan- 
swerable. The  only  question  was,  whether  such  an 
unexpected  accession  of  company  to  an  already  crowded 
house  would  not  put  the  housekeeper  to  her  trumps  to 
accommodate  them. 

"  Pshaw,"  cried  mine  host ;  "  did  you  ever  know  a 
bachelor's  hall  that  was  not  elastic,  and  able  to  accom- 
modate twice  as  many  as  it  could  hold  ? "  So,  out  of  a 
good-humored  pique,  the  housekeeper  was  summoned  to 
a  consultation  before  us  all.  The  old  lady  appeared  in 
her  gala  suit  of  faded  brocade,  which  rustled  with  flurry 
and  agitation  ;  for,  in  spite  of  our  host's  bravado,  she  was 
a  little  perplexed.  But  in  a  bachelor's  house,  and  with 
bachelor  guests,  these  matters  are  readily  managed. 
There  is  no  lady  of  the  house  to  stand  upon  squeamish 


24  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLEB. 

points  about  lodging  gentlemen  in  odd  holes  and  corners, 
and  exposing  the  shabby  parts  of  the  establishment.  A 
bachelor's  housekeeper  is  used  to  shifts  and  emergen- 
cies ;  so,  after  much  worrying  to  and  fro,  and  divers  con- 
sultations about  the  red-room,  and  the  blue-room,  and  the 
chintz-room,  and  the  damask-room,  and  the  little  room 
with  the  bow- window,  the  matter  was  finally  arranged. 

When  all  this  was  done,  we  were  once  more  summoned 
to  the  standing  rural  amusement  of  eating.  The  time 
that  had  been  consumed  in  dozing  after  dinner,  and  in 
the  refreshment  and  consultation  of  the  cedar-parlor,  was 
sufficient,  in  the  opinion  of  the  rosy-faced  butler,  to  en- 
gender a  reasonable  appetite  for  supper.  A  slight  repast 
had,  therefore,  been  tricked  up  from  the  residue  of  din- 
ner, consisting  of  a  cold  sirloin  of  beef,  hashed  venison,  a 
devilled  leg  of  a  turkej^  or  so,  and  a  few  other  of  those 
light  articles  taken  by  country  gentlemen  to  ensure 
sound  sleep  and  heavy  snoring. 

The  nap  after  dinner  had  brightened  up  every  one's 
wit ;  and  a  great  deal  of  excellent  humor  was  expended 
upon  the  perplexities  of  mine  host  and  his  housekeeper, 
by  certain  married  gentlemen  of  the  company,  who  con- 
sidered themselves  privileged  in  joking  with  a  bachelor's 
establishment.  From  this  the  banter  turned  as  to  what 
quarters  each  would  find,  on  being  thus  suddenly  billeted 
in  so  antiquated  a  mansion. 

"  By  my  soul,"  said  an  Irish  captain  of  dragoons,  one  of 
the  most  merry  and  boisterous  of  the  party,  "  by  my  soul, 


THE  HUNTINQ-DINNER.  25 

but  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  some  of  tbose  good-look- 
ing gentlefolks  that  liang  along  the  walls  should  walk 
about  the  rooms  of  this  stormy  night ;  or  if  I  should  find 
the  ghosts  of  one  of  those  long-waisted  ladies  turning  into 
my  bed  in  mistake  for  her  grave  in  the  churchyard." 

"Do you  believe  in  ghosts,  then?"  said  a  thin,  hatchet- 
faced  gentleman,  with  projecting  eyes  like  a  lobster. 

I  had  remarked  this  last  personage  during  dinner- 
time for  one  of  those  incessant  questioners,  who  have  a 
craving,  unhealthy  appetite  in  conversation.  He  never 
seemed  satisfied  with  the  whole  of  a  story ;  never  laughed 
when  others  laughed;  but  always  put  the  joke  to  the 
question.  He  never  could  enjoy  the  kernel  of  the  nut, 
but  pestered  himself  to  get  more  out  of  the  shell.  "  Do 
you  believe  in  ghosts,  then  ?  "  said  the  inquisitive  gen- 
tleman. 

"Faith,  but  I  do,"  replied  the  jovial  Irishman.  "I 
was  brought  up  in  the  fear  and  belief  of  them.  We  had 
a  Benshee  in  our  own  family,  honey." 

"  A  Benshee,  and  what's  that?  "  cried  the  questioner. 

"  Why,  an  old  lady  ghost  that  tends  upon  your  real 
Milesian  families,  and  waits  at  their  window  to  let  them 
know  when  some  of  them  are  to  die." 

"A  mighty  pleasant  piece  of  information!"  cried  an 
elderly  gentleman  with  a  knowing  look,  and  with  a  flexi- 
ble nose,  to  which  he  could  give  a  whimsical  twist  when 
he  wished  to  be  waggish. 

"  By  my  soul,  but  I'd  have  you  to  know  it's  a  piece  of 


26  TALE8  OF  A   TEA  VELLEB, 

distinction  to  be  waited  on  by  a  Benshee.  It*s  a  proof 
tliat  one  has  pure  blood  in  one's  veins.  But  i'  faith,  now 
we  are  talking  of  ghosts,  there  never  was  a  house  or  a 
night  better  fitted  than  the  present  for  a  ghost  adventure. 
Pray,  Sir  John,  haven't  you  such  a  thing  as  a  haunted 
chamber  to  put  a  guest  in  ?  " 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  Baronet,  smiling,  "I  might  ac- 
commodate you  even  on  that  point." 

"  Oh,  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  my  jewel.  Some 
dark  oaken  room,  with  ugly  woe-begone  portraits,  that 
stare  dismally  at  one  ;  and  about  which  the  housekeeper 
has  a  power  of  delightful  stories  of  love  and  murder. 
And  then  a  dim  lamp,  a  table  with  a  rusty  sword  across 
it,  and  a  spectre  all  in  white,  to  draw  aside  one's  curtains 
at  midnight " — 

"  In  truth,"  said  an  old  gentleman  at  one  end  of  the 
table,  "  you  put  me  in  mind  of  an  anecdote  " — 

"  Oh,  a  ghost-story!  a  ghost-story!"  was  vociferated 
round  the  board,  every  one  edging  his  chair  a  little 
nearer. 

The  attention  of  the  whole  company  was  now  turned 
upon  the  speaker.  He  was  an  old  gentleman,  one  side 
of  whose  face  was  no  match  for  the  other.  The  eye-lid 
drooped  and  hung  down  like  an  unhinged  window-shut- 
ter. Indeed,  the  whole  side  of  his  head  was  dilapi- 
dated, and  seemed  like  the  wing  of  a  house  shut  up  and 
haunted.  I'll  warrant  that  side  was  well  stuffed  with 
ghost-stories. 


THE  HUNTING' DINNER.  27 

There  was  a  universal  demand  for  the  tale. 

"  Nay,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  it's  a  mere  anecdote, 
and  a  very  commonplace  one ;  but  such  as  it  is  you  shall 
have  it.  It  is  a  story  that  I  once  heard  my  uncle  tell  as 
having  happened  to  himself.  He  was  a  man  very  apt  to 
meet  with  strange  adventures.  I  have  heard  him  tell  of 
others  much  more  singular." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  was  your  uncle  ?  "  said  the  ques- 
tioning gentleman. 

"  Why,  he  was  rather  a  dry,  shrewd  kind  of  body ;  a 
great  traveller,  and  fond  of  telling  his  adventures." 

"Pray,  how  old  might  he  have  been  when  that  hap- 
pened?" 

"When  what  happened?"  cried  the  gentleman  with 
the  flexible  nose,  impatiently.  "Egad,  you  have  not 
given  anything  a  chance  to  happen.  Come,  never  mind 
our  uncle's  age ;  let  us  have  his  adventures." 

The  inquisitive  gentleman  being  for  the  moment  si- 
lenced, the  old  gentleman  with  the  haunted  head  pro- 
ceeded. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OP  MY  UNCLE. 

ANY  years  since,  some  time  before  the  French 
Kevolution,  my  uncle  passed  several  months  at 
Paris.  The  English  and  French  were  on  bet- 
ter terms  in  those  days  than  at  present,  and  mingled 
cordially  in  society.  The  English  went  abroad  to  spend 
money  then,  and  the  French  were  always  ready  to  help 
them  :  they  go  abroad  to  save  money  at  present,  and  that 
they  can  do  without  French  assistance.  Perhaps  the 
travelling  English  were  fewer  and  choicer  than  at  pres- 
ent, when  the  whole  nation  has  broke  loose  and  inun- 
dated the  continent.  At  any  rate,  they  circulated  more 
readily  and  currently  in  foreign  society,  and  my  uncle, 
during  his  residence  in  Paris,  made  many  very  intimate 
acquaintances  among  the  French  noblesse. 

Some  time  afterwards,  he  was  making  a  journey  in  the 
winter-time  in  that  part  of  Normandy  called  the  Pays  de 
Caux,  when,  as  evening  was  closing  in,  he  perceived  the 
turrets  of  an  ancient  chateau  rising  out  of  the  trees  of  its 
walled  park ;  each  turret  with  its  high  conical  roof  of 
gray  slate,  like  a  candle  with  an  extinguisher  on  it. 

"  To  whom  does  that  chateau  belong,  friend  ?  "  cried 
my  uncle  to  a  meagre  but  fiery  postilion,  who,  with  tre- 

28 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.  29 

mendous  jack-boots  and  cocked  hat,  was  floundering  on 
before  him. 

"To  Monseigneur  the  Marquis  de ,"  said  the  pos- 
tilion, touching  his  hat,  partly  out  of  respect  to  my  uncle, 
and  partly  out  of  reverence  to  the  noble  name  pro- 
nounced. 

My  uncle  recollected  the  Marquis  for  a  particular 
friend  in  Paris,  who  had  often  expressed  a  wish  to  see 
him  at  his  paternal  chateau.  My  uncle  was  an  old 
traveller,  one  who  knew  well  how  to  turn  things  to  ac- 
count. He  revolved  for  a  few  moments  in  his  mind,  how 
agreeable  it  would  be  to  his  friend  the  Marquis  to  be  sur- 
prised in  this  sociable  way  by  a  pop  visit ;  and  how  much 
more  agreeable  to  himself  to  get  into  snug  quarters  in  a 
chateau,  and  have  a  relish  of  the  Marquis's  well-known 
kitchen,  and  a  smack  of  his  superior  Champagne  and 
Burgundy,  rather  than  put  up  with  the  miserable  lodg- 
ment and  miserable  fare  of  a  provincial  inn.  In  a  few 
minutes,  therefore,  the  meagre  postilion  was  cracking  his 
whip  like  a  very  devil,  or  like  a  true  Frenchman,  up  the 
long,  straight  avenue  that  led  to  the  chateau. 

You  have  no  doubt  all  seen  French  chateaus,  as  every- 
body travels  in  France  nowadays.  This  was  one  of  the 
oldest ;  standing  naked  and  alone  in  the  midst  of  a  desert 
of  gravel  walks  and  cold  stone  terraces ;  with  a  cold- 
looking,  formal  garden,  cut  into  angles  and  rhomboids ; 
and  a  cold,  leafless  park,  divided  geometrically  by 
straight  alleys ;  and  two  or  three  cold-looking  noseless 


30  TALES  OF  A   TBA  VELLEB. 

statues;  and  fountains  spouting  cold  water  enough  to 
make  one*s  teeth  chatter.  At  least  such  was  the  feeling 
they  imparted  on  the  wintry  day  of  my  uncle's  visit ; 
though,  in  hot  summer  weather,  I'll  warrant  there  was 
glare  enough  to  scorch  one's  eyes  out. 

The  smacking  of  the  postilion's  whip,  which  grew  more 
and  more  intense  the  nearer  they  approached,  frightened 
a  flight  of  pigeons  out  of  a  dove-cot,  and  rooks  out  of  the 
roofs,  and  finally  a  crew  of  servants  out  of  the  chateau, 
with  the  Marquis  at  their  head.  He  was  enchanted  to 
see  my  uncle,  for  his  chateau,  like  the  house  of  our  wor- 
thy host,  had  not  many  more  guests  at  the  time  than  it 
could  accommodate.  So  he  kissed  my  uncle  on  each 
cheek,  after  the  French  fashion,  and  ushered  him  into  the 
castle. 

The  Marquis  did  the  honors  of  the  house  with  the  ur- 
banity of  his  country.  In  fact,  he  was  proud  of  his  old 
family  chateau,  for  part  of  it  was  extremely  old.  There 
was  a  tower  and  chapel  which  had  been  built  almost  be- 
fore the  memory  of  man ;  but  the  rest  was  more  modern, 
the  castle  having  been  nearly  demolished  during  the  wars 
of  the  league.  The  Marquis  dwelt  upon  this  event  with 
great  satisfaction,  and  seemed  really  to  entertain  a  grate- 
ful feeling  towards  Henry  the  Fourth,  for  having  thought 
his  paternal  mansion  worth  battering  down.  He  had 
many  stories  to  tell  of  the  prowess  of  his  ancestors ;  and 
several  skull-caps,  helmets,  and  cross-bows,  and  divers 
Luge  boots  and  buff  jerkins,  to  show,  which  had  been 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.  31 

worn  by  tlie  leaguers.  Above  all,  there  was  a  two-handed 
sword,  which  he  could  hardly  wield,  but  which  he  dis- 
played, as  a  proof  that  there  had  been  giants  in  his 
family. 

In  truth,  he  was  but  a  small  descendant  from  such 
great  warriors.  When  you  looked  at  their  bluff  visages 
and  brawny  limbs,  as  depicted  in  their  portraits,  and 
then  at  the  little  Marquis,  with  his  spindle  shanks,  and 
his  sallow  lantern  visage,  flanked  with  a  pair  of  powdered 
ear-locks,  or  aths  de  pigeon^  that  seemed  ready  to  fly  away 
with  it,  you  could  hardly  believe  him  to  be  of  the  same 
race.  But  when  you  looked  at  the  eyes  that  sparkled  out 
like  a  beetle's  from  each  side  of  his  hooked  nose,  you  saw 
at  once  that  he  inherited  all  the  fiery  spirit  of  his  fore- 
fathers. In  fact,  a  Frenchman's  spirit  never  exhales, 
however  his  body  may  dwindle.  It  rather  rarefies,  and 
grows  more  inflammable,  as  the  earthly  particles  dimin^ 
ish ;  and  I  have  seen  valor  enough  in  a  little  fiery-hearted 
French  dwarf  to  have  furnished  out  a  tolerable  giant. 

"When  once  the  Marquis,  as  was  his  wont,  put  on  one  of 
the  old  helmets  stuck  up  in  his  hall,  though  his  head  no 
more  filled  it  than  a  dry  pea  its  peascod,  yet  his  eyes 
flashed  from  the  bottom  of  the  iron  cavern  with  the  bril- 
liancy of  carbuncles ;  and  when  he  poised  the  ponderous 
two-handed  sword  of  his  ancestors,  you  would  have 
thought  you  saw  the  doughty  little  David  wielding  the 
sword  of  Goliath,  which  was  unto  him  like  a  weaver's 
beam. 


32  TALES  OF  A   TBA  VELLEB. 

However,  gentlemen,  I  am  dwelling  too  long  on  this 
description  of  the  Marquis  and  his  chateau,  but  you  must 
excuse  me ;  he  was  an  old  friend  of  my  uncle ;  and  when- 
ever my  uncle  told  the  story,  he  was  always  fond  of  talk- 
ing a  great  deal  about  his  host. — Poor  little  Marquis! 
He  was  one  of  that  handful  of  gallant  courtiers  who  made 
such  a  devoted  but  hopeless  stand  in  the  cause  of  their 
sovereign,  in  the  chateau  of  the  Tuileries,  against  the 
irruption  of  the  mob  on  the  sad  tenth  of  August.  He 
displayed  the  valor  of  a  preux  French  chevalier  to  the 
last ;  flourishing  feebly  his  little  court-sword  with  a  ga- 
ga! in  face  of  a  whole  legion  of  sans-culottes ;  but  was 
pinned  to  the  wall  like  a  butterfly,  by  the  pike  of  a  pois- 
sarde,  and  his  heroic  soul  was  borne  up  to  heaven  on  his 
ailes  de  pigeon. 

But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  story.  To  the 
point,  then.  When  the  hour  arrived  for  retiring  for  the 
night,  my  uncle  was  shown  to  his  room  in  a  venerable  old 
tower.  It  was  the  oldest  part  of  the  chateau,  and  had  in 
ancient  times  been  the  donjon  or  strong-hold ;  of  course 
the  chamber  was  none  of  the  best.  The  Marquis  had  put 
him  there,  however,  because  he  knew  him  to  be  a  travel- 
ler of  taste,  and  fond  of  antiquities  ;  and  also  because  the 
better  apartments  were  already  occupied.  Indeed,  he 
perfectly  reconciled  my  uncle  to  his  quarters  by  mention- 
ing the  great  personages  who  had  once  inhabited  them, 
all  of  whom  were,  in  some  way  or  other,  connected  with 
the  family.     If  you   would  take  his  word  for  it,  John 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.  33 

Baliol,  or  as  he  called  him,  Jean  de  Bailleul,  had  died  of 
chagrin  in  this  very  chamber,  on  hearing  of  the  success 
of  his  rival,  Eobert  de  Bruce,  at  the  battle  of  Bannock- 
burn.  And  when  he  added  that  the  Duke  de  Guise  had 
slept  in  it,  my  uncle  was  fain  to  felicitate  himself  on 
being  honored  with  such  distinguished  quarters. 

The  night  was  shrewd  and  windy,  and  the  chamber 
none  of  the  warmest.  An  old,  long-faced,  long-bodied 
servant,  in  quaint  livery,  who  attended  upon  my  uncle, 
threw  down  an  armful  of  wood  beside  the  fireplace,  gave 
a  queer  look  about  the  room,  and  then  wished  him  hon 
repos  with  a  grimace  and  a  shrug  that  would  have  been 
suspicious  from  any  other  than  an  old  French  servant. 

The  chamber  had  indeed  a  wild,  crazy  look,  enough  to 
strike  any  one  who  had  read  romances  with  apprehension 
and  foreboding.  The  windows  were  high  and  narrow, 
and  had  once  been  loop-holes,  but  had  been  rudely  en- 
larged, as  well  as  the  extreme  thickness  of  the  walls 
would  permit ;  and  the  ill-fitted  casements  rattled  to 
every  breeze.  You  would  have  thought,  on  a  windy 
night,  some  of  the  old  leaguers  were  tramping  and  clank- 
ing about  the  apartment  in  their  huge  boots  and  rattling 
spurs.  A  door  which  stood  ajar,  and,  like  a  true  French 
door,  would  stand  ajar  in  spite  of  every  reason  and  effort 
to  the  contrary,  opened  upon  a  long  dark  corridor,  that 
led  the  Lord  knows  whither,  and  seemed  just  made  for 
ghosts  to  air  themselves  in,  when  they  turned  out  of  their 
graves  at  midnight.     The  wind  would  spring  up  into  a 


34  TALES  OF  A    TEA  VELLEB. 

hoarse  murmur  tlirougli  this  passage,  and  creak  the  door 
to  and  fro,  as  if  some  dubious  ghost  were  balancing  in  its 
mind  whether  to  come  in  or  not.  In  a  word,  it  was  pre- 
cisely the  kind  of  comfortless  apartment  that  a  ghost,  if 
ghost  there  were  in  the  chateau,  would  single  out  for  its 
favorite  lounge. 

My  uncle,  however,  though  a  man  accustomed  to  meet 
with  strange  adventures,  apprehended  none  at  the  time. 
He  made  several  attempts  to  shut  the  door,  but  in  vain. 
Not  that  he  apprehended  anything,  for  he  was  too  old  a 
traveller  to  be  daunted  by  a  wild-looking  apartment ;  but 
the  night,  as  I  have  said,  was  cold  and  gusty,  and  the 
wind  howled  about  the  old  turret  pretty  much  as  it  does 
round  this  old  mansion  at  this  moment,  and  the  breeze 
from  the  long  dark  corridor  came  in  as  damp  and  as 
chilly  as  if  from  a  dungeon.  My  uncle,  therefore,  since 
he  could  not  close  the  door,  threw  a  quantity  of  wood  on 
the  fire,  which  soon  sent  up  a  flame  in  the  great  wide- 
mouthed  chimney  that  illumined  the  whole  chamber ;  and 
made  the  shadow  of  the  tongs  on  the  opposite  wall  look 
like  a  long-legged  giant.  My  uncle  now  clambered  on 
the  top  of  the  half-score  of  mattresses  which  form  a 
French  bed,  and  which  stood  in  a  deep  recess ;  then  tuck- 
ing himself  snugly  in,  and  burying  himself  up  to  the  chin 
in  the  bedclothes,  he  lay  looking  at  the  fire,  and  listening 
to  the  wind,  and  thinking  how  knowingly  he  had  come 
over  his  friend  the  Marquis  for  a  night's  lodging — and  so 
he  fell  asleep. 


THE  ADVENTUBE  OF  MT  UNCLE.  35 

He  liad  not  taken  above  half  of  his  first  nap  when  he 
was  awakened  by  the  clock  of  the  chateau,  in  the  turret 
over  his  chamber,  which  struck  midnight.  It  was  just 
such  an  old  clock  as  ghosts  are  fond  of.  It  had  a  deep, 
dismal  tone,  and  struck  so  slowly  and  tediously  that  my 
uncle  thought  it  would  never  have  done.  He  counted  and 
counted  till  he  was  confident  he  counted  thirteen,  and 
then  it  stopped. 

The  fire  had  burnt  low,  and  the  blaze  of  the  last  fagot 
was  almost  expiring,  burning  in  small  blue  flames,  which 
now  and  then  lengthened  up  into  little  white  gleams. 
My  uncle  lay  with  his  eyes  half  closed,  and  his  nightcap 
drawn  almost  down  to  his  nose.  His  fancy  was  already 
wandering,  and  began  to  mingle  up  the  present  scene 
with  the  crater  of  Vesuvius,  the  French  Opera,  the  Coli- 
seum at  Rome,  Dolly's  chop-house  in  London,  and  all 
the  farrago  of  noted  places  with  which  the  brain  of  a 
traveller  is  crammed, — in  a  word,  he  was  just  falling 
asleep. 

Suddenly  he  was  roused  by  the  sound  of  footsteps, 
slowly  pacing  along  the  corridor.  My  uncle,  as  I  have 
often  heard  him  say  himself,  was  a  man  not  easily  fright- 
ened. So  he  lay  quiet,  supposing  this  some  other  guest, 
or  some  servant  on  his  way  to  bed.  The  footsteps,  how- 
ever, approached  the  door;  the  door  gently  opened; 
whether  of  its  own  accord,  or  whether  pushed  open,  my 
uncle  could  not  distinguish :  a  figure  all  in  white  glided 
in.     It  was  a  female,  tall  and  stately^  and  of  a  command- 


36  TALES  OF  A   TRA  VELLER. 

ing  air.  Her  dress  was  of  an  ancient  fashion,  ample  in 
volume,  and  sweeping  the  floor.  She  walked  up  to  the 
fireplace,  without  regarding  my  uncle,  who  raised  his 
nightcap  with  one  hand,  and  stared  earnestly  at  her. 
She  remained  for  some  time  standing  by  the  fire,  which, 
flashing  up  at  intervals,  cast  blue  and  white  gleams  of 
light,  that  enabled  my  uncle  to  remark  her  appearance 
minutely. 

Her  face  was  ghastly  pale,  and  perhaps  rendered  still 
more  so  by  the  bluish  light  of  the  fire.  It  possessed 
beauty,  but  its  beauty  was  saddened  by  care  and  anxiety. 
There  was  the  look  of  one  accustomed  to  trouble,  but  of 
one  whom  trouble  could  not  cast  down  nor  subdue ;  for 
there  was  still  the  predominating  air  of  proud,  uncon- 
querable resolution.  Such  at  least  was  the  opinion 
formed  by  my  uncle,  and  he  considered  himself  a  great 
physiognomist. 

The  figure  remained,  as  I  said,  for  some  time  by  the 
fire,  putting  out  first  one  hand,  then  the  other;  then 
each  foot  alternately,  as  if  warming  itself;  for  your 
ghosts,  if  ghost  it  really  was,  are  apt  to  be  cold.  My 
uncle,  furthermore,  remarked  that  it  wore  high-heeled 
shoes,  after  an  ancient  fashion,  with  paste  or  diamond 
buckles,  that  sparkled  as  though  they  were  alive.  At 
length  the  figure  turned  gently  round,  casting  a  glassy 
look  about  the  apartment,  which,  as  it  passed  over  my 
uncle,  made  his  blood  run  cold,  and  chilled  the  very 
marrow  in  his  bones.     It  then  stretched  its  arms  towards 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  VNGLE.  37 

heaven,  clasped  its  hands,  and  wringing  them  in  a  sup- 
plicating manner,  glided  slowly  out  of  the  room. 

My  uncle  lay  for  some  time  meditating  on  this  visita- 
tion, for  (as  he  remarked  when  he  told  me  the  story) 
though  a  man  of  firmness,  he  was  also  a  man  of  reflection, 
and  did  not  reject  a  thing  because  it  was  out  of  the  regu- 
lar course  of  events.  However,  being  as  I  have  before 
said,  a  great  traveller,  and  accustomed  to  strange  adven- 
tures, he  drew  his  nightcap  resolutely  over  his  eyes, 
turned  his  back  to  the  door,  hoisted  the  bedclothes  high 
over  his  shoulders,  and  gradually  fell  asleep. 

How  long  he  slept  he  could  not  say,  when  he  was 
awakened  by  the  voice  of  some  one  at  his  bedside.  He 
turned  round,  and  beheld  the  old  French  servant,  with 
his  ear-locks  in  tight  buckles  on  each  side  of  a  long  lan- 
tern face,  on  which  habit  had  deeply  wrinkled  an  ever- 
lasting smile.  He  made  a  thousand  grimaces,  and  asked 
a  thousand  pardons  for  disturbing  Monsieur,  but  the 
morning  was  considerably  advanced.  While  my  uncle 
was  dressing,  he  called  vaguely  to  mind  the  visitor  of  the 
preceding  night.  He  asked  the  ancient  domestic  what 
lady  was  in  the  habit  of  rambling  about  this  part  of  the 
chateau  at  night.  The  old  valet  shrugged  his  shoulders 
as  high  as  his  head,  laid  one  hand  on  his  bosom,  threw 
open  the  other  with  every  finger  extended,  made  a  most 
whimsical  grimace  which  he  meant  to  be  complimentary, 
and  replied,  that  it  was  not  for  him  to  know  anything  of 
fe5  honnes  fortunes  of  Monsieur. 


38  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLER. 

My  uncle  saw  there  was  notliing  satisfactory  to  be 
learned  in  this  quarter.  After  breakfast,  he  was  walking 
with  the  Marquis  through  the  modern  apartments  of  the 
chateau,  sliding  over  the  well-waxed  floors  of  silken 
saloons,  amidst  furniture  rich  in  gilding  and  brocade,  un- 
til they  came  to  a  long  picture-gallery,  containing  many 
portraits,  some  in  oil  and  some  in  chalks. 

Here  was  an  ample  field  for  the  eloquence  of  his  host, 
who  had  all  the  pride  of  a  nobleman  of  the  ancien  regime. 
There  was  not  a  grand  name  in  Normandy,  and  hardly 
one  in  France,  which  was  not,  in  some  way  or  other,  con- 
nected with  his  house.  My  uncle  stood  listening  with 
inward  impatience,  resting  sometimes  on  one  leg,  some- 
times on  the  other,  as  the  little  Marquis  descanted,  with 
his  usual  fire  and  vivacity,  on  the  achievements  of  his  an- 
cestors, whose  portraits  hung  along  the  wall ;  from  the 
martial  deeds  of  the  stern  warriors  in  steel,  to  the  gallan- 
tries and  intrigues  of  the  blue-eyed  gentlemen,  with  fair 
smiling  faces,  powdered  ear-locks,  laced  ruffles,  and  pink 
and  blue  silk  coats  and  breeches; — ^not  forgetting  the 
conquests  of  the  lovely  shepherdesses,  with  hooped 
petticoats,  and  waists  no  thicker  than  an  hour-glass, 
who  appeared  ruling  over  their  sheep  and  their 
swains,  with  dainty  crooks  decorated  with  fluttering  rib- 
bons. 

In  the  midst  of  his  friend's  discourse,  my  uncle  was 
startled  on  beholding  a  full-length  portrait,  the  very 
counterpart  of  his  visitor  of  the  preceding  night. 


TEE  ADVENTURE  OF  MT  UNCLE.  39 

"Methinks,"  said  lie,  pointing  to  it,  "I  have  seen  the 
original  of  this  portrait." 

"Pardonnez  moi,"  replied  the  Marquis  politely,  "that 
can  hardly  be,  as  the  lady  has  been  dead  more  than  a 
hundred  years.  That  was  the  beautiful  Duchess  de  Lon- 
gueyille,  who  figured  during  the  minority  of  Louis  the 
Fourteenth." 

"And  was  there  anything  remarkable  in  her  history?  " 

Never  was  question  more  unlucky.  The  little  Marquis 
immediately  threw  himself  into  the  attitude  of  a  man 
about  to  tell  a  long  story.  In  fact,  my  uncle  had  pulled 
upon  himself  the  whole  history  of  the  civil  war  of  the 
Fronde,  in  which  the  beautiful  Duchess  had  played  so 
distinguished  a  part.  Turenne,  Coligni,  Mazarin,  were 
called  up  from  their  graves  to  grace  his  narration;  nor 
were  the  affairs  of  the  Barricadoes,  nor  the  chivalry  of 
the  Port  Cocheres  forgotten.  My  uncle  began  to  wish 
himself  a  thousand  leagues  off  from  the  Marquis  and  his 
merciless  memory,  when  suddenly  the  little  man's  recol- 
lections took  a  more  interesting  turn.  He  was  relating 
the  imprisonment  of  the  Duke  de  Longueville  with  the 
Princes  Conde  and  Conti  in  the  chateau  of  Yincennes, 
and  the  ineffectual  efforts  of  the  Duchess  to  rouse  the 
sturdy  Normans  to  their  rescue.  He  had  come  to  that 
part  where  she  was  invested  by  the  royal  forces  in  the 
Castle  of  Dieppe. 

"  The  spirit  of  the  Duchess,"  proceeded  the  Marquis, 
"  rose  from  her  trials.     It  was  astonishing  to  see  so  deli- 


40  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

cate  and  beautiful  a  thing  buffet  so  resolutely  with  hard- 
ships. She  determined  on  a  desperate  means  of  escape. 
You  may  have  seen  the  chateau  in  which  she  was  mewed 
up, — an  old  ragged  wart  of  an  edifice,  standing  on  the 
knuckle  of  a  hill,  just  above  the  rusty  little  town  of 
Dieppe.  One  dark  unruly  night  she  issued  secretly  out 
of  a  small  postern  gate  of  the  castle,  which  the  enemy 
had  neglected  to  guard.  The  postern  gate  is  there  to 
this  very  day ;  opening  upon  a  narrow  bridge  over  a  deep 
fosse  between  the  castle  and  the  brow  of  the  hill.  She 
was  followed  by  her  female  attendants,  a  few  domestics, 
and  some  gallant  cavaliers,  who  still  remained  faithful  to 
her  fortunes.  Her  object  was  to  gain  a  small  port  about 
two  leagues  distant,  where  she  had  privately  provided  a 
vessel  for  her  escape  in  case  of  emergency. 

"  The  little  band  of  fugitives  were  obliged  to  perform 
the  distance  on  foot.  When  they  arrived  at  the  port  the 
wind  was  high  and  stormy,  the  tide  contrary,  the  vessel 
anchored  far  off  in  the  road,  and  no  means  of  getting  on 
board  but  by  a  fishing-shallop  which  lay  tossing  like  a 
cockle-shell  on  the  edge  of  the  surf.  The  Duchess  de- 
termined to  risk  the  attempt.  The  seamen  endeavored 
to  dissuade  her,  but  the  imminence  of  her  danger  on 
shore,  and  the  magnanimity  of  her  spirit,  urged  her  on. 
She  had  to  be  borne  to  the  shallop  in  the  arms  of  a  mari- 
ner. Such  was  the  violence  of  the  wind  and  waves  that 
he  faltered,  lost  his  foothold,  and  let  his  precious  burden 
fall  into  the  sea. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.  41 

"  The  Duchess  was  nearly  drowned,  but  partly  through 
her  own  struggles,  partly  by  the  exertions  of  the  seamen, 
she  got  to  land.  As  soon  as  she  had  a  little  recovered 
strength,  she  insisted  on  renewing  the  attempt.  The 
storm,  however,  had  by  this  time  become  so  violent  as 
to  set  all  efforts  at  defiance.  To  delay,  was  to  be  discov- 
ered and  taken  prisoner.  As  the  only  resource  left,  she 
procured  horses,  mounted  with  her  female  attendants,  en 
a^oupCf  behind  the  gallant  gentlemen  who  accompanied  her, 
and  scoured  the  country  to  seek  some  temporary  asylum. 

"  While  the  Duchess,"  continued  the  Marquis,  laying 
his  forefinger  on  my  uncle's  breast  to  arouse  his  flagging 
attention, — "  while  the  Duchess,  poor  lady,  was  wander- 
ing amid  the  tempest  in  this  disconsolate  manner,  she 
arrived  at  this  chateau.  Her  approach  caused  some  un- 
easiness ;  for  the  clattering  of  a  troop  of  horse  at  dead  of 
night  up  the  avenue  of  a  lonely  chateau,  in  those  unset- 
tled times,  and  in  a  troubled  part  of  the  country,  was 
enough  to  occasion  alarm. 

"  A  tall,  broad-shouldered  chasseur,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
galloped  ahead  and  announced  the  name  of  the  visitor. 
All  uneasiness  was  dispelled.  The  household  turned  out 
with  flambeaux  to  receive  her,  and  never  did  torches 
gleam  on  a  more  weather-beaten,  travel-stained  band 
than  came  tramping  into  the  court.  Such  pale,  careworn 
faces,  such  bedraggled  dresses,  as  the  poor  Duchess  and 
\ier  females  presented,  each  seated  behind  her  cavalier: 
while  the  half-drenched,  half-drowsy  pages  and  attend- 


42  TALES  OF  A   TRAVELLER. 

ants  seemed  ready  to  fall  from  their  horses  with  sleep 
and  fatigue. 

"  The  Duchess  was  received  with  a  hearty  welcome  by 
my  ancestor.  She  was  ushered  into  the  hall  of  the  cha- 
teau, and  the  fires  soon  crackled  and  blazed,  to  cheer 
herself  and  her  train ;  and  every  spit  and  stew-pan  was 
put  in  requisition  to  prepare  ample  refreshment  for  the 
wayfarers. 

"  She  had  a  right  to  our  hospitalities,"  continued  the 
Marquis,  drawing  himself  up  with  a  slight  degree  of 
stateliness,  "  for  she  was  related  to  our  family.  I'll  tell 
you  how  it  was.  Her  father,  Henry  de  Bourbon,  Prince 
ofConde" 

"  But  did  the  Duchess  pass  the  night  in  the  chateau  ?  " 
said  my  uncle  rather  abruptly,  terrified  at  the  idea  of 
getting  involved  in  one  of  the  Marquis's  genealogical  dis- 
cussions. 

"Oh,  as  to  the  Duchess,  she  was  put  into  the  very 
apartment  you  occupied  last  night,  which  at  that  time 
was  a  kind  of  state-apartment.  Her  followers  were  quar- 
tered in  the  chambers  opening  upon  the  neighboring  cor- 
ridor, and  her  favorite  page  slept  in  an  adjoining  closet. 
Up  and  down  the  corridor  walked  the  great  chasseur  who 
had  announced  her  arrival,  and  who  acted  as  a  kind  of 
sentinel  or  guard.  He  was  a  dark,  stern,  powerful-look- 
ing fellow ;  and  as  the  light  of  a  lamp  in  the  corridor  fell 
upon  his  deeply  marked  face  and  sinewy  form,  he  seemed 
capable  of  defending  the  castle  with  his  single  arm. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.  43 

"It  was  a  rougli,  rude  niglit;  about  this  time  of  the 
year — apropos  ! — now  I  think  of  it,  last  night  was  the  an- 
niversary of  her  visit.  I  may  well  remember  the  precise 
date,  for  it  was  a  night  not  to  be  forgotten  by  our  house. 
There  is  a  singular  tradition  concerning  it  in  our  family." 
Here  the  Marquis  hesitated,  and  a  cloud  seemed  to  gather 
about  his  bushy  eyebrows.  "  There  is  a  tradition — that 
a  strange  occurrence  took  place  that  night. — A  strange, 
mysterious,  inexplicable  occurrence." — Here  he  checked 
himself,  and  paused. 

"Did  it  relate  to  that  lady?"  inquired  my  uncle, 
eagerly. 

"  It  was  past  the  hour  of  midnight,"  resumed  the  Mar- 
quis,— "  when  the  whole  chateau  " Here  he  paused 

again.    My  uncle  made  a  movement  of  anxious  curiosity. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  the  Marquis,  a  slight  blush  streak- 
ing his  sallow  visage.  "There  are  some  circumstances 
connected  with  our  family  history  which  I  do  not  like  to 
relate.  That  was  a  rude  period.  A  time  of  great  crimes 
among  great  men :  for  you  know  high  blood,  when  it 
runs  wrong,  will  not  run  tamely,  like  blood  of  the  canaille 
— poor  lady! — But  I  have  a  little  family  pride,  that — - 
excuse  me — we  will  change  the  subject  if  you  please  " — 

My  uAcle's  cnriosity  was  piqued.  The  pompous  and 
magnificent  introduction  had  led  him  to  expect  some- 
thing wonderful  in  the  story  to  which  it  served  as  a  kind 
of  avenue.  He  had  no  idea  of  being  cheated  out  of  it  by 
a  sudden  fit  of  unreasonable  squeamishness.     Besides, 


44  TALES  OF  A   TRA  VELLER. 

being  a  traveller  in  quest  of  information,  lie  considered 
it  his  duty  to  inquire  into  everything. 

The  Marquis,  however,  evaded  every  question. 

"Well,"  said  my  uncle  a  little  petulantly,  "whatever 
you  may  think  of  it,  I  saw  that  lady  last  night." 

The  Marquis  stepped  back  and  gazed  at  him  with  sur- 
prise. 

"  She  paid  me  a  visit  in  my  bedchamber." 

The  Marquis  pulled  out  his  snuff-box  with  a  shrug  and 
a  smile;  taking  this  no  doubt  for  an  awkward  piece  of 
English  pleasantry,  which  politeness  required  him  to  be 
charmed  with. 

My  uncle  went  on  gravely,  however,  and  related  the 
whole  circumstance.  The  Marquis  heard  him  through 
with  profound  attention,  holding  his  snuff-box  unopened 
in  his  hand.  When  the  story  was  finished,  he  tapped  on 
the  lid  of  his  box  deliberately,  took  a  long,  sonorous 
pinch  of  snuff 

"  Bah ! "  said  the  Marquis,  and  walked  towards  the 
other  end  of  the  gallery. 

Here  the  narrator  paused.  The  company  waited  for 
some  time  for  him  to  resume  his  narration ;  but  he  con- 
tinued silent. 

"Well,"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman, — "and  what 
did  your  uncle  say  then?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  other. 

"  And  what  did  the  Marquis  say  farther  ?  '* 


THE  AD  VENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE.  45 

"Nothing." 

"And  is  that  all?" 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  narrator,  filling  a  glass  of  wine. 

"  I  surmise,"  said  the  shrewd  old  gentleman  with  the 
waggish  nose, — "I  surmise  the  ghost  must  have  been 
the  old  housekeeper,  walking  her  rounds  to  see  that  all 
\\^as  right." 

"  Bah  !  "  said  the  narrator.  "  My  uncle  was  too  much 
accustomed  to  strange  sights  not  to  know  a  ghost  from 
a  housekeeper." 

There  was  a  murmur  round  the  table,  half  of  merri- 
ment, half  of  disappointment.  I  was  inclined  to  think 
the  old  gentleman  had  really  an  after-part  of  his  story  in 
reserve  ;  but  he  sipped  his  wine  and  said  nothing  more  ; 
and  there  was  an  odd  expression  about  his  dilapidated 
countenance  which  left  me  in  doubt  whether  he  were  in 
drollery  or  earnest. 

"  Egad,"  said  the  knowing  gentleman,  with  the  flexible 
nose,  "  this  story  of  your  uncle  puts  me  in  mind  of  one 
that  used  to  be  told  of  an  aunt  of  mine,  by  the  mother's 
side  ;  though  I  don't  know  that  it  will  bear  a  compari- 
son, as  the  good  lady  was  not  so  prone  to  meet  with 
strange  adventures.     But  any  rate  you  shall  have  it." 


THE    ADVENTURE    OF   MY   AUNT. 

lY  aunt  was  a  ladj  of  large  frame,  strong  mind, 
and  great  resolution  :  she  was  wliat  might  be 
termed  a  very  manly  woman.  My  uncle  was  a 
thin,  puny  little  man,  very  meek  and  acquiescent,  and 
no  match  for  my  aunt.  It  was  observed  that  he  dwindled 
and  dwindled  gradually  away,  from  the  day  of  his  mar- 
riage. His  wife's  powerful  mind  was  too  much  for  him  ; 
it  wore  him  out.  My  aunt,  however,  took  all  possible 
care  of  him ;  had  half  the  doctors  in  town  to  prescribe  for 
him;  made  him  take  all  their  prescriptions,  and  dosed 
him  with  physic  enough  to  cure  a  whole  hospital.  All 
was  in  vain.  My  uncle  grew  worse  and  worse  the  more 
dosing  and  nursing  he  underwent,  until  in  the  end  he 
added  another  to  the  long  list  of  matrimonial  victims  who 
have  been  killed  with  kindness. 

"  And  was  it  his  ghost  that  appeared  to  her  ? "  asked 
the  inquisitive  gentleman,  who  had  questioned  the  former 
story-teller. 

"  You  shall  hear,"  replied  the  narrator. — My  aunt  took 
on  mightily  for  the  death  of  her  poor  dear  husband. 
Perhaps  she  felt  some  compunction  at  having  given  him 
so  much  physic,  and  nursed  him  into  the  grave.     At  anj 

46 


TEE  ADVENTtlUE  OF  MT  AUNT.  47 

rate,  she  did  all  that  a  widow  could  do  to  honor  his  mem- 
ory. She  spared  no  expense  in  either  the  quantity  or 
quality  of  her  mourning  weeds ;  wore  a  miniature  of  him 
about  her  neck  as  large  as  a  little  sun-dial,  and  had  a 
full-length  portrait  of  him  always  hanging  in  her  bed- 
chamber. All  the  world  extolled  her  conduct  to  the 
skies ;  and  it  was  determined  that  a  woman  who  behaved 
so  well  to  the  memory  of  one  husband  deserved  soon  to 
get  another. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  she  went  to  take  up  her 
residence  in  an  old  country-seat  in  Derbyshire,  which 
had  long  been  in  the  care  of  merely  a  steward  and  house- 
keeper. She  took  most  of  her  servants  with  her,  intend- 
ing to  make  it  her  principal  abode.  The  house  stood  in  a 
lonely  wild  part  of  the  country,  among  the  gray  Derby- 
shire hills,  with  a  murderer  hanging  in  chains  on  a  bleak 
height  in  full  view. 

The  servants  from  town  were  half  frightened  out  of 
their  wits  at  the  idea  of  living  in  such  a  dismal,  pagan- 
looking  place ;  especially  when  they  got  together  in  the 
servants'  hall  in  the  evening,  and  compared  notes  on  all 
the  hobgoblin  stories  picked  up  in  the  course  of  the  day. 
They  were  afraid  to  venture  alone  about  the  gloomy, 
black-looking  chambers.  My  lady's  maid,  who  was 
troubled  with  nerves,  declared  she  could  never  sleep 
alone  in  such  a  "  gashly  rummaging  old  building  " ;  and 
the  footman,  who  was  a  kind-hearted  young  fellow,  did  all 
in  his  power  to  cheer  her  up. 


48  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLER. 

My  aunt  was  struck  witli  the  lonely  appearance  of  the 
house.  Before  going  to  bed,  therefore,  she  examined  well 
the  fastnesses  of  the  doors  and  windows ;  locked  up  the 
plate  with  her  own  hands,  and  carried  the  keys,  together 
with  a  little  box  of  money  and  jewels,  to  her  own  room ; 
for  she  was  a  notable  woman,  and  always  saw  to  all 
things  herself.  Having  put  the  keys  under  her  pillow, 
and  dismissed  her  maid,  she  sat  by  her  toilet,  arranging 
her  hair ;  for  being,  in  spite  of  her  grief  for  my  uncle, 
rather  a  buxom  widow,  she  was  somewhat  particular 
about  her  person.  She  sat  for  a  little  while  looking  at 
her  face  in  the  glass,  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other, 
as  ladies  are  apt  to  do  when  they  would  ascertain 
whether  they  have  been  in  good  looks ;  for  a  roistering 
country  squire  of  the  neighborhood,  with  whom  she  had 
flirted  when  a  girl,  had  called  that  day  to  welcome  her  to 
the  country. 

All  of  a  sudden  she  thought  she  heard  something  move 
behind  her.  She  looked  hastily  round,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen.  Nothing  but  the  grimly  painted  por- 
trait of  her  poor  dear  man,  hanging  against  the  wall. 

She  gave  a  heavy  sigh  to  his  memory,  as  she  was  ac- 
customed to  do  whenever  she  spoke  of  him  in  company, 
and  then  went  on  adjusting  her  night-dress,  and  thinking 
of  the  squire.  Her  sigh  was  reechoed,  or  answered,  by  a 
long-drawn  breath.  She  looked  round  again,  but  no  one 
was  to  be  seen.  She  ascribed  these  sounds  to  the  wind 
oozing  through  the  rat-holes  of  the  old  mansion,  and  pro- 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT.  49 

ceeded  leisurely  to  put  her  hair  in  papers,  when,  all  at 
once,  she  thought  she  perceived  one  of  the  eyes  of  the 
portrait  move. 

"  The  back  of  her  head  being  towards  it ! "  said  the 
story-teller  with  the  ruined  head, — "  good !  " 

"  Yes,  sir !  "  replied  dryly  the  narrator,  "  her  back  be- 
ing towards  the  portrait,  but  her  eyes  fixed  on  its  reflec- 
tion in  the  glass." — Well,  as  I  was  saying,  she  perceived 
one  of  the  eyes  of  the  portrait  move.  So  strange  a  cir- 
cumstance, as  you  may  well  suppose,  gave  her  a  sudden 
shock.  To  assure  herself  of  the  fact,  she  put  one  hand 
to  her  forehead  as  if  rubbing  it ;  peeped  through  her  fin- 
gers, and  moved  the  candle  with  the  other  hand.  The 
light  of  the  taper  gleamed  on  the  eye,  and  was  reflected 
from  it.  She  was  sure  it  moved.  Nay,  more,  it  seemed 
to  give  her  a  wink,  as  she  had  sometimes  known  her  hus- 
band to  do  when  living !  It  struck  a  momentary  chill  to 
her  heart;  for  she  was  a  lone  woman,  and  felt  herself 
fearfully  situated. 

The  chill  was  but  transient.  My  aunt,  who  was  almost 
as  resolute  a  personage  as  your  unclej  sir,  (turning  to  the 
old  story-teller,)  became  instantly  calm  and  collected. 
She  went  on  adjusting  her  dress.  She  even  hummed  an 
air,  and  did  not  make  even  a  single  false  note.  She 
casually  overturned  a  dressing-box ;  took  a  candle  and 
picked  up  the  articles  one  by  one  from  the  floor ;  pur- 
sued a  rolling  pin-cushion  that  was  making  the  best  of 

its  way  under  the  bed  ;  then  opened  the  door ;  looked  for 
4 


50  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEU. 

an  instant  into  the  corrider,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  to  go  ] 
and  then  walked  quietly  out. 

She  hastened  down-stairs,  ordered  the  servants  to  arm 
themselves  with  the  weapons  first  at  hand,  placed  her- 
self at  their  head,  and  returned  almost  immediately. 

Her  hastily  levied  army  presented  a  formidable  force. 
The  steward  had  a  rusty  blunderbuss,  the  coachman  a 
loaded  whip,  the  footman  a  pair  of  horse-pistols,  the 
cook  a  huge  chopping-knife,  and  the  butler  a  bottle  in 
each  hand.  My  aunt  led  the  van  with  a  red-hot  poker, 
and  in  my  opinion  she  was  the  most  formidable  of  the 
party.  The  waiting-maid,  who  dreaded  to  stay  alone  in 
the  servants'  hall,  brought  up  the  rear,  smelling  to  a 
broken  bottle  of  volatile  salts,  and  expressing  her  terror 
of  the  ghostesses.  "  Ghosts !  "  said  my  aunt,  resolutely. 
"  I'll  singe  their  whiskers  for  them ! " 

They  entered  the  chamber.  All  was  still  and  undis- 
turbed as  when  she  had  left  it.  They  approached  the 
portrait  of  my  uncle. 

"  Pull  down  that  picture  !  "  cried  my  aunt.  A  heavy 
groan,  and  a  sound  like  the  chattering  of  teeth,  issued 
from  the  portrait.  The  servants  shrunk  back ;  the  maid 
uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and  clung  to  the  footman  for  sup- 
port. 

"  Instantly !  "  added  my  aunt,  with  a  stamp  of  the  foot. 

The  picture  was  pulled  down,  and  from  a  recess  behind 
it,  in  which  had  formerly  stood  a  clock,  they  hauled  forth 
a  round-shouldered,  black-bearded  varlet,  with  a  knife 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT.  51 

as  long  as  my  arm,  but  trembling  all  over  like  an  aspen- 
leaf. 

"  "Well,  and  who  was  he  ?  No  ghost,  I  suppose,"  said 
the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"A  Knight  of  the  Post,"  replied  the  narrator,  "who 
had  been  smitten  with  the  worth  of  the  wealthy  widow  ; 
or  rather  a  marauding  Tarquin,  who  had  stolen  into  her 
chamber  to  violate  her  purse,  and  rifle  her  strong  box, 
when  all  the  house  should  be  asleep.  In  plain  terms," 
continued  he,  "  the  vagabond  was  a  loose  idle  fellow  of 
the  neighborhood,  who  had  once  been  a  servant  in  the 
hours,  and  had  been  employed  to  assist  in  arranging  it 
for  the  reception  of  its  mistress.  He  confessed  that  he 
had  contrived  this  hiding-place  for  his  nefarious  purpose, 
and  had  borrowed  an  eye  from  the  portrait  by  way  of  a 
reconnoitring-hole. " 

"  And  what  did  they  do  with  him  ? — did  they  hang 
him  ?  "  resumed  the  questioner. 

"  Hang  him ! — how  could  they  ?  "  exclaimed  a  beetle- 
browed  barrister,  with  a  hawk's  nose,  "  The  offence  was 
not  capital.  No  robbery,  no  assault  had  been  committed. 
No  forcible  entry  or  breaking  into  the  premises  " — 

*'  My  aunt,"  said  the  narrator,  "was  a  woman  of  spirit, 
and  apt  to  take  the  law  in  her  own  hands.  She  had  her 
own  notions  of  cleanliness  also.  She  ordered  the  fellow 
to  be  drawn  through  the  horse-pond,  to  cleanse  away  all 
offences^  and  then  to  be  well  rubbed  down  with  an  oaken 
towel." 


52  TALES  OF  A   TRA  VELLER. 

"  And  wliat  became  of  him  afterwards  ?  "  said  the  in- 
quisitive gentleman. 

"I  do  not  exactly  know.  I  believe  he  was  sent  on  a 
voyage  of  improve m.ent  to  Botany  Bay." 

"And  yonr  aunt,"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman;  "I'll 
warrant  she  took  care  to  make  her  maid  sleep  in  the 
room  with  her  after  that." 

"  No,  sir,  she  did  better ;  she  gave  her  hand  shortly 
after  to  the  roistering  squire  ;  for  she  used  to  observe, 
that  it  was  a  dismal  thing  for  a  woman  to  sleep  alone  in 
the  country." 

"  She  was  right,"  observed  the  inquisitive  gentleman, 
nodding  sagaciously  ;  "  but  I  am  sorry  they  did  not  hang 
that  fellow." 

It  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  the  last  narrator  had 
brought  his  tale  to  the  most  satisfactory  conclusion, 
though  a  country  clergyman  present  regretted  that  the 
uncle  and  aunt,  who  figured  in  the  different  stories,  had 
not  been  married  together ;  they  certainly  would  have 
been  well  matched. 

"  But  I  don't  see,  after  all,"  said  the  inquisitive  gentle- 
man, "  that  there  was  any  ghost  in  this  last  story." 

"  Oh !  If  it's  ghosts  you  want,  honey,"  cried  the  Irish 
Captain  of  Dragoons,  "  if  it's  ghosts  you  want,  you  shall 
have  a  whole  regiment  of  them.  And  since  these  gentle- 
men have  given  the  adventures  of  their  uncles  and  aunts, 
faith,  and  I'll  even  give  you  a  chapter  out  of  my  own 
family-history. ' ' 


THE  BOLD   DRAGOON; 

OR, 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER. 

Y  grandfather  was  a  bold  dragoon,  for  it's  a  pro- 
fession, d'ye  see,  that  has  run  in  the  family. 
All  my  forefathers  have  been  dragoons,  and 
died  on  the  field  of  honor,  except  myself,  and  I  hope  my 
posterity  may  be  able  to  say  the  same  ;  however,  I  don't 
mean  to  be  vainglorious.  Well,  my  grandfather,  as  I 
said,  was  a  bold  dragoon,  and  had  served  in  the  Low 
Countries.  In  fact,  he  was  one  of  that  very  army,  which, 
according  to  my  uncle  Toby,  swore  so  terribly  in  Flan- 
ders. He  could  swear  a  good  stick  himself ;  and  more- 
over was  the  very  man  that  introduced  the  doctrine  Cor- 
poral Trim  mentions  of  radical  heat  and  radical  moisture, 
or,  in  other  words,  the  mode  of  keeping  out  the  damps  of 
ditch-water  by  burnt  brandy.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it's 
nothing  to  the  purport  of  my  story.  I  only  tell  it  to 
show  you  that  my  grandfather  was  a  man  not  easily  to 
be  humbugged.  He  had  seen  service,  or,  according  to 
his  own  phrase,  he  had  seen  the  devil — and  that's  saying 
everything. 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  on  his  way  to 

53 


54  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLEB. 

England,  for  whicli  he  intended  to  embark  from  Ostend — 
bad  luck  to  the  place !  for  one  where  I  was  kept  by- 
storms  and  head-winds  for  three  long  days,  and  the  devil 
of  a  jolly  companion  or  pretty  girl  to  comfort  me.  Well, 
as  I  was  saying,  my  grandfather  was  on  his  way  to  Eng- 
land, or  rather  to  Ostend — no  matter  which,  it's  all  the 
same.  So  one  evening,  towards  nightfall,  he  rode  jollily 
into  Bruges. — Very  like  you  all  know  Bruges,  gentlemen ; 
a  queer,  old-fashioned  Flemish  town,  once,  they  say,  a 
great  place  for  trade  and  money-making  in  old  times, 
when  the  Mynheers  were  in  their  glory ;  but  almost  as 
large  and  as  empty  as  an  Irishman's  pocket  at  the  pres- 
ent day. — Well,  gentlemen,  it  was  at  the  time  of  the  an- 
nual fair.  All  Bruges  was  crowded ;  and  the  canals 
swarmed  with  Dutch  boats,  and  the  streets  swarmed  with 
Dutch  merchants ;  and  there  was  hardly  any  g'^tting 
along  for  goods,  wares,  and  merchandises,  and  peasants 
in  big  breeches,  and  women  in  half  a  score  of  petticoats. 
My  grandfather  rode  jollily  along,  in  his  easy,  slashing 
way,  for  he  was  a  saucy,  sunshiny  fellow — staring  about 
him  at  the  motley  crowd,  and  the  old  houses  with  gable 
ends  to  the  street,  and  storks'  nests  in  the  chimneys ; 
winking  at  the  yafrows  who  showed  their  faces  at  the 
windows,  and  joking  the  women  right  and  left  in  the 
street ;  all  of  whom  laughed,  and  took  it  in  amazing  good 
part ;  for  though  he  did  not  know  a  word  of  the  language, 
yet  he  had  always  a  knack  of  making  himself  understood 
among  the  women. 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  55 

Well,  gentlemen,  it  being  the  time  of  the  annual  fair, 
all  the  town  was  crowded,  every  inn  and  tavern  full,  and 
my  grandfather  applied  in  vain  from  one  to  the  other  for 
admittance.  At  length  he  rode  up  to  an  old  rickety  inn, 
that  looked  ready  to  fall  to  pieces,  and  which  all  the  rats 
would  have  run  away  from,  if  they  could  have  found  room 
in  any  other  house  to  put  their  heads.  It  was  just  such 
a  queer  building  as  you  see  in  Dutch  pictures,  with  a  tall 
roof  that  reached  up  into  the  clouds,  and  as  many  garrets, 
one  over  the  other,  as  the  seven  heavens  of  Mahomet. 
Nothing  had  saved  it  from  tumbling  down  but  a  stork's 
nest  on  the  chimney,  which  always  brings  good  luck 
to  a  house  in  the  Low  Countries ;  and  at  the  very 
time  of  my  grandfather's  arrival,  there  were  two  of 
these  long-legged  birds  of  grace  standing  like  ghosts 
on  the  chimney-top.  Faith,  but  they've  kept  the  house 
on  its  legs  to  this  very  day,  for  you  may  see  it  any 
time  you  pass  through  Bruges,  as  it  stands  there  yet, 
only  it  is  turned  into  a  brewery  of  strong  Flemish 
beer, — at  least  it  was  so  when  I  came  that  way  after  the 
battle  of  "Waterloo. 

My  grandfather  eyed  the  house  curiously  as  he  ap- 
proached. It  might  not  have  altogether  struck  his 
fancy,  had  he  not  seen  in  large  letters  over  the  door, 

HEER  VERKOOPT  MAN  GOEDEN  DRANK. 
My  grandfather  had  learnt  enough  of  the  language  to 


56  TALES  OF  A   TBA  VELLEB, 

know  that  the  sign  promised  good  liquor.  "  This  is  the 
house  for  me,"  said  he,  stopping  short  before  the  door. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  a  dashing  dragoon  was  an 
event  in  an  old  inn  frequented  only  by  the  peaceful  son^ 
of  traffic.  A  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp,  a  stately  ample 
man  in  a  broad  Flemish  hat,  and  who  was  the  great  man 
and  great  patron  of  the  establishment,  sat  smoking  a  clean 
long  pipe  on  one  side  of  the  door ;  a  fat  little  distiller  of 
Geneva,  from  Schiedam,  sat  smoking  on  the  other;  and 
the  bottle-nosed  host  stood  in  the  door,  and  the  comely 
hostess,  in  crimped  cap,  beside  him;  and  the  hostess's 
daughter,  a  plump  Flanders  lass,  with  long  gold  pen- 
dants in  her  ears,  was  at  a  side-window. 

*'  Humph !  "  said  the  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp,  with  a 
sulky  glance  at  the  stranger. 

"  De  duyvel !  "  said  the  fat  little  distiller  of  Schiedam. 

The  landlord  saw,  with  the  quick  glance  of  a  publican, 
that  the  new  guest  was  not  at  all  to  the  taste  of  the  old 
ones;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  like  my  grand- 
father's saucy  eye.  He  shook  his  head.  "  Not  a  garret 
in  the  house  but  was  full." 

"  Not  a  garret !  "  echoed  the  landlady. 

"  Not  a  garret !  "  echoed  the  daughter. 

The  burgher  of  Antwerp,  and  the  little  distiller  of 
Schiedam,  continued  to  smoke  their  pipes  sullenly,  eye- 
ing the  enemy  askance  from  under  their  broad  hats,  but 
said  nothing. 

My  grandfather  was  not  a  man  to  be  browbeaten.     He 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  67 

threw  the  reins  on  his  horse's  neck,  cocked  his  head  on 
one  side,  stuck  one  arm  akimbo, — "  Faith  and  troth  !  " 
said  he,  "  but  I'll  sleep  in  this  house  this  very  night." — 
As  he  said  this  he  gave  a  slap  on  his  thigh,  bj  way  of 
emphasis — the  slap  went  to  the  landlady's  heart. 

He  followed  up  the  vow  by  jumping  ojff  his  horse,  and 
making  his  way  past  the  staring  Mynheers  into  the  pub- 
lic room. — Maybe  you've  been  in  the  bar-room  of  an 
old  Flemish  inn — faith,  but  a  handsome  chamber  it  was 
as  you'd  wish  to  see ;  with  a  brick  floor,  and  a  great  fire- 
place, with  the  whole  Bible  history  in  glazed  tiles,  and 
then  the  mantelpiece,  pitching  itself  head  foremost  out  of 
the  wall,  with  a  whole  regiment  of  cracked  tea-pots  and 
earthen  jugs  paraded  on  it ;  not  to  mention  half  a  dozen 
great  Delft  platters,  hung  about  the  room  by  way  of  pic- 
tures ;  and  the  little  bar  in  one  corner,  and  the  bouncing 
bar-maid  inside  of  it,  with  a  red  calico  cap,  and  yellow 
ear-drops. 

My  grandfather  snapped  his  fingers  over  his  head,  as 
he  cast  an  eye  round  the  room,— r"  Faith,  this  is  the 
very  house  I've  been  looking  after,"  said  he. 

There  was  some  further  show  of  resistance  on  the  part 
of  the  garrison  ;  but  my  grandfather  was  an  old  soldier, 
and  an  Irishman  to  boot,  and  not  easily  repulsed, 
especially  after  he  had  got  into  the  fortress.  So  he 
blarneyed  the  landlord,  kissed  the  landlord's  wife, 
tickled  the  landlord's  daughter,  chucked  the  bar-maid 
under  the  chin ;  and  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  it 


58  TALES  OF  A    TBA  VBLLER. 

would  be  a  thousand  pities,  and  a  burning  shame  inta 
the  bargain,  to  turn  such  a  bold  dragoon  into  the  streets. 
So  they  laid  their  heads  together,  that  is  to  say,  my 
grandfather  and  the  landlady,  and  it  was  at  length  agreed 
to  accommodate  him  with  an  old  chamber  that  had  been 
for  some  time  shut  up. 

"Some  say  it's  haunted,"  whispered  the  landlord's 
daughter ;  "  but  you  are  a  bold  dragoon,  and  I  dare  say 
don't  fear  ghosts.'* 

"  The  devil  a  bit !  "  said  my  grandfather,  pinching  her 
plump  cheek.  "But  if  I  should  be  troubled  by  ghosts, 
I've  been  to  the  Red  Sea  in  my  time,  and  have  a  pleas- 
ant way  of  laying  them,  my  darling." 

And  then  he  whispered  something  to  the  girl  which 
made  her  laugh,  and  give  him  a  good-humored  box  on 
the  ear.  In  short,  there  was  nobody  knew  better  how  to 
make  his  way  among  the  petticoats  than  my  grandfather. 

In  a  little  while,  as  was  his  usual  way,  he  took  com- 
plete possession  of  the  house,  swaggering  all  over  it ; 
into  the  stable  to  look  after  his  horse,  into  the  kitchen  to 
look  after  his  supper.  He  had  something  to  say  or  do 
with  every  one  ;  smoked  with  the  Dutchmen,  drank  with 
the  Germans,  slapped  the  landlord  on  the  shoulder, 
romped  with  his  daughter  and  the  bar-maid :  —  never, 
since  the  days  of  Alley  Croaker,  had  such  a  rattling 
blade  been  seen.  The  landlord  stared  at  him  with 
astonishment ;  the  landlord's  daughter  hung  her  head 
and  giggled  whenever  he  came   near ;  and  as  he   swag* 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  59 

gered  along  the  corridor,  with  his  sword  trailing  by  hia 
side,  the  maids  looked  after  him,  and  whispered  to  one 
another,  "  What  a  proper  man  !  " 

At  supper,  my  grandfather  took  command  of  the  table- 
d'hote  as  though  he  had  been  at  home  ;  helped  every- 
body, not  forgetting  himself;  talked  with  every  one, 
whether  he  understood  their  language  or  not ;  and  made 
his  way  into  the  intimacy  of  the  rich  burgher  of  Ant- 
werp, who  had  never  been  known  to  be  sociable  with  any 
one  during  his  life.  In  fact,  he  revolutionized  the  whole 
establishment,  and  gave  it  such  a  rouse,  that  the  very 
house  reeled  with  it.  He  outsat  every  one  at  table,  ex- 
cepting the  little  fat  distiller  of  Schiedam,  who  sat  soak- 
ing a  long  time  before  he  broke  forth  ;  but  when  he  did, 
he  was  a  very  devil  incarnate.  He  took  a  violent  affec- 
tion for  my  grandfather ;  so  they  sat  drinking  and 
smoking,  and  telling  stories,  and  singing  Dutch  and  Irish 
songs,  without  understanding  a  word  each  other  said,  un- 
til the  little  Hollander  was  fairly  swamped  with  his  own 
gin  and  water,  and  carried  off  to  bed,  whooping  and  hick- 
uping,  and  trolling  the  burden  of  a  Low  Dutch  love-song. 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  shown  to  his 
quarters  up  a  large  staircase,  composed  of  loads  of  hewn 
timber;  and  through  long  rigmarole  passages,  hung 
with  blackened  paintings  of  fish,  and  fruit,  and  game,  and 
country  frolics,  and  huge  kitchens,  and  portly  burgomas- 
ters, such  as  you  see  about  old-fashioned  Flemish  inns, 
till  at  length  he  arrived  at  his  room. 


go  TALES  OF  A    TRA  VELLBR. 

An  old-times  chamber  it  was,  sure  enough,  and  crowded 
with,  all  kinds  of  trumpery.  It  looked  like  an  infirmary 
fcr  decayed  and  superannuated  furniture,  where  every- 
thing diseased  or  disabled  was  sent  to  nurse  or  to  be  for- 
gotten. Or  rather  it  might  be  taken  for  a  general  con- 
gress of  old  legitimate  movables,  where  every  kind  and 
country  had  a  representative.  No  two  chairs  were  alike. 
Such  high  backs  and  low  backs,  and  leather  bottoms, 
and  worsted  bottoms,  and  straw  bottoms,  and  no  bot- 
toms ;  and  cracked  marble  tables  with  curiously  carved 
legs,  holding  balls  in  their  claws,  as  though  they  were 
going  to  play  at  ninepins. 

My  grandfather  made  a  bow  to  the  motley  assemblage 
as  he  entered,  and,  having  undressed  himself,  placed  his 
light  in  the  fireplace,  asking  pardon  of  the  tongs,  which 
seemed  to  be  making  love  to  the  shovel  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  and  whispering  soft  nonsense  in  its  ear. 

The  rest  of  the  guests  were  by  this  time  sound  asleep, 
for  your  Mynheers  are  huge  sleepers.  The  housemaids, 
one  by  one,  crept  up  yawning  to  their  attics  ;  and  not  a 
female  head  in  the  inn  was  laid  on  a  pillow  that  night 
without  dreaming  of  the  bold  dragoon. 

My  grandfather,  for  his  part,  got  into  bed,  and  drew 
over  him  one  of  those  great  bags  of  down,  under  which 
fjhey  smother  a  man  in  the  Low  Countries;  and  there  he 
lay,  melting  between  two  feather  beds,  like  an  anchovy 
sandwich  between  two  slices  of  toast  and  butter.  He 
was    a  warm-complexioned   man,   and  this    smothering 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  61 

played  the  very  deuce  with  him.  So,  sure  enough,  in  a 
little  time  it  seemed  as  if  a  legion  of  imps  were  twitching 
at  him,  and  all  the  blood  in  his  veins  was  in  a  fever-heat. 

He  lay  still,  however,  until  all  the  house  was  quiet,  ex- 
cepting the  snoring  of  the  Mynheers  from  the  different 
chambers ;  who  answered  one  another  in  all  kinds  of 
tones  and  cadences,  like  so  many  bull-frogs  in  a  swamp. 
The  quieter  the  house  became,  the  more  unquiet  became 
my  grandfather.  He  waxed  warmer  and  warmer,  until  at 
length  the  bed  became  too  hot  to  hold  him. 

"  Maybe  the  maid  had  warmed  it  too  much  ?  "  said  the 
curious  gentleman,  inquiringly. 

"I  rather  think  the  contrary,"  replied  the  Irishman. 
"But,  be  that  as  it  may,  it  grew  too  hot  for  my  grand- 
father." 

"  Faith,  there's  no  standing  this  any  longer,"  says  he. 
So  he  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  went  strolling  about  the 
house. 

"  What  for  ?  "  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  Why,  to  cool  himself,  to  be  sure — or  perhaps  to  find 
a  more  comfortable  bed — or  perhaps —  But  no  matter 
what  he  went  for — he  never  mentioned — and  there's  no 
use  in  taking  up  our  time  in  conjecturing." 

Well,  my  grandfather  had  been  for  some  time  absent 
from  his  room,  and  was  returning,  perfectly  cool,  when 
just  as  he  reached  the  door,  he  heard  a  strange  noise 
within.  He  paused  and  listened.  It  seemed  as  if  some 
one  were  trying  to  hum  a  tune  in  defiance  of  the  asthma. 


62  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

He  recollected  the  report  of  the  room  being  haunted; 
but  he  was  no  believer  in  ghosts,  so  he  pushed  the  door 
gently  open  and  peeped  in. 

Egad,  gentlemen,  there  was  a  gambol  carrying  on 
within  enough  to  have  astonished  St.  Anthony  himself. 
By  the  light  of  the  fire  he  saw  a  pale  weazen-faced 
fellow,  in  a  long  flannel  gown  and  a  tall  white  night-cap 
with  a  tassel  to  it,  who  sat  by  the  fire  with  a  bellows 
under  his  arm  by  way  of  bagpipe,  from  which  he  forced 
the  asthmatical  music  that  had  bothered  my  grandfather. 
As  he  played,  too,  he  kept  twitching  about  with  a  thou- 
sand queer  contortions,  nodding  his  head,  and  bobbing 
about  his  tasselled  night-cap. 

My  grandfather  thought  this  very  odd  and  mighty  pre- 
sumptuous, and  was  about  to  demand  what  business  he 
had  to  play  his  wind-instrument  in  another  gentleman's 
quarters,  when  a  new  cause  of  astonishment  met  his  eye. 
From  the  opposite  side  of  the  room  a  long-backed, 
bandy-legged  chair,  covered  with  leather,  and  studded 
all  over  in  a  coxcombical  fashion  with  little  brass  nails, 
got  suddenly  into  motion,  thrust  out  first  a  claw-foot, 
then  a  crooked  arm,  and  at  length,  making  a  leg,  slided 
gracefully  up  to  an  easy-chair  of  tarnished  brocade,  with 
a  hole  in  its  bottom,  and  led  it  gallantly  out  in  a  ghostly 
minuet  about  the  floor. 

The  musician  now  played  fiercer  and  fiercer,  and 
bobbed  his  head  and  his  night-cap  about  like  mad.  By 
degrees  the   dancing  mania  seemed  to   seize   upon  all 


THE.    BOLD     DRAGOON 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  63 

other  pieces  of  furnifcure.  The  antique,  long -bodied 
chairs  paired  off  in  couples  and  led  down  a  country- 
dance  ;  a  three-legged  stool  danced  a  hornpipe,  though 
horribly  puzzled  by  its  supernumerary  limb ;  while  the 
amorous  tongs  seized  the  shovel  round  the  waist,  and 
whirled  it  about  the  room  in  a  German  waltz.  In  short, 
all  the  movables  got  in  motion :  pirouetting  hands 
across,  right  and  left,  like  so  many  devils ;  all  except  a 
great  clothes-press,  which  kept  courtesying  and  courtesy- 
ing  in  a  corner,  like  a  dowager,  in  exquisite  time  to  the 
music ;  being  rather  too  corpulent  to  dance,  or  perhaps 
at  a  loss  for  a  partner. 

My  grandfather  concluded  the  latter  to  be  the  reason ; 
so  being,  like  a  true  Irishman,  devoted  to  the  sex,  and 
at  all  times  ready  for  a  frolic,  he  bounced  into  the 
room,  called  to  the  musician  to  strike  up  Paddy  O'Eaf- 
ferty,  capered  up  to  the  clothes-press,  and  seized  upon 

the  two  handles  to  lead  her  out : when — whirr !  the 

whole  revel  was  at  an  end.  The  chairs,  tables,  tongs  and 
shovel,  slunk  in  an  instant  as  quietly  into  their  places  as 
if  nothing  had  happened,  and  the  musician  vanished  up 
the  chimney,  leaving  the  bellows  behind  him  in  his 
hurry.  My  grandfather  found  himself  seated  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor  with  the  clothes-press  sprawling  before 
him,  and  the  two  handles  jerked  off,  and  in  his  hands. 

"  Then,  after  all,  this  was  a  mere  dream ! "  said  the 
inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  The  divil  a  bit  of  a  dream  !  "  replied  the  Irishman. 


64  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLER. 

"  There  never  was  a  truer  fact  in  this  world.  Faith,  I 
should  have  liked  to  see  any  man  tell  my  grandfather  it 
was  a  dream." 

Well,  gentlemen,  as  the  clothes-press  was  a  mighty 
heavy  body,  and  my  grandfather  likewise,  particularly  in 
rear,  you  may  easily  suppose  that  two  such  heavy  bodies 
coming  to  the  ground  would  make  a  bit  of  a  noise. 
Faith,  the  old  mansion  shook  as  though  it  had  mistaken 
it  for  an  earthquake.  The  whole  garrison  was  alarmed. 
The  landlord,  who  slept  below,  hurried  up  with  a  candle 
to  inquire  the  cause,  but  with  all  his  haste  his  daughter 
had  arrived  at  the  scene  of  uproar  before  him.  The 
landlord  was  followed  by  the  landlady,  who  was  followed 
by  the  bouncing  bar-maid,  who  was  followed  by  the  sim- 
pering chambermaids,  all  holding  together,  as  well  as 
they  could,  such  garments  as  they  first  laid  hands  on ; 
but  all  in  a  terrible  hurry  to  see  what  the  deuce  was  to 
pay  in  the  chamber  of  the  bold  dragoon. 

My  grandfather  related  the  marvellous  scene  he  had 
witnessed,  and  the  broken  handles  of  the  prostrate 
clothes-press  bore  testimony  to  the  fact.  There  was  no 
contesting  such  evidence  ;  particularly  with  a  lad  of  my 
grandfather's  complexion,  who  seemed  able  to  make  good 
every  word  either  with  sword  or  shillelah.  So  the  land- 
lord scratched  his  head  and  looked  silly,  as  he  was  apt 
to  do  when  puzzled.  The  landlady  scratched — no,  she 
did  not  scratch  her  head,  but  she  knit  her  brow,  and  did 
not  seem  half  pleased  with  the  explanation.     But  the 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON.  65 

landlady's  daughter  corroborated  it  by  recollecting  tliat 
the  last  person  who  had  dwelt  in  that  chamber  was  a 
famous  juggler  who  died  of  St.  Yitus's  dance,  and  had  no 
doubt  infected  all  the  furniture. 

This  set  all  things  to  rights,  particularly  when  the 
chambermaids  declared  that  they  had  all  witnessed 
strange  carryings  on  in  that  room ;  and  as  they  declared 
this  "  upon  their  honors,"  there  could  not  remain  a 
doubt  upon  this  subject. 

"And  did  your  grandfather  go  to  bed  again  in  that 
room  ?  "  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"That's  more  than  I  can  tell.  Where  he  passed  the 
rest  of  the  night  was  a  secret  he  never  disclosed.  In 
fact,  though  he  had  seen  much  service,  he  was  but  indif- 
ferently acquainted  with  geography,  and  apt  to  make 
blunders  in  his  travels  about  inns  at  night,  which  it  would 
have  puzzled  him  sadly  to  account  for  in  the  morning." 

"Was  he  ever  apt  to  walk  in  his  sleep?"  said  the 
knowing  old  gentleman. 

"  Never  that  I  heard  of." 

There  was  a  little  pause  after  this  rigmarole  Irish  ro- 
mance, when  the  old  gentleman  with  the  haunted  head 
observed,  that  the  stories  hitherto  related  had  rather  a 
burlesque  tendency.  "  I  recollect  an  adventure,  how- 
ever," added  he,  "  which  I  heard  of  during  a  residence  at 
Paris,  for  the  truth  of  which  I  can  undertake  to  vouch, 
and  which  is  of  a  very  grave  and  singular  nature." 
5 


ADVENTUEE  OF  THE  GERMAN  STUDENT. 


N  a  stormy  night,  in  the  tempestuous  times  of 
the  French  revolution,  a  young  German  was  re- 
turning to  his  lodgings,  at  a  late  hour,  across 


the  old  part  of  Paris.  The  lightning  gleamed,  and  the 
loud  claps  of  thunder  rattled  through  the  lofty  narrow 
streets — but  I  should  first  tell  you  something  about  this 
young  German. 

Gottfried  Wolfgang  was  a  young  man  of  good  family. 
He  had  studied  for  some  time  at  Gottingen,  but  being  of 
a  visionary  and  enthusiastic  character,  he  had  wandered 
into  those  wild  and  speculative  doctrines  which  have  so 
often  bewildered  German  students.  His  secluded  life, 
his  intense  application,  and  the  singular  nature  of  his 
studies,  had  an  effect  on  both  mind  and  body.  His 
health  was  impaired ;  his  imagination  diseased.  He  had 
been  indulging  in  fanciful  speculations  on  spiritual  es- 
sences, until,  like  Swedenborg,  he  had  an  ideal  world  of 
his  own  around  him.  He  took  up  a  notion,  I  do  not  know 
from  what  cause,  that  there  was  an  evil  influence  hanging 
over  him  ;  an  evil  genius  or  spirit  seeking  to  ensnare  him 
and  ensure  his  perdition.     Such  an  idea  working  on  his 

66 


THE  GERMAN  STUDENT.  67 

melancholy  temperament,  produced  tlie  most  gloomy  ef- 
fects. He  became  haggard  and  desponding.  His  friends 
discovered  the  mental  malady  preying  upon  him,  and  de- 
termined that  the  best  cure  was  a  change  of  scene ;  he 
was  sent,  therefore,  to  finish  his  studies  amid  the  splen- 
dors and  gayeties  of  Paris. 

"Wolfgang  arrived  at  Paris  at  the  breaking  out  of  the 
revolution.  The  popular  delirium  at  first  caught  his  en- 
thusiastic mind,  and  he  was  captivated  by  the  political 
and  philosophical  theories  of  the  day  :  but  the  scenes  of 
blood  which  followed  shocked  his  sensitive  nature,  dis- 
gusted him  with  society  and  the  world,  and  made  him 
more  than  ever  a  recluse.  He  shut  himself  up  in  a  soli- 
tary apartment  in  the  Pays  Latin,  the  quarter  of  students. 
There,  in  a  gloomy  street  not  far  from  the  monastic  walls 
of  the  Sorbonne,  he  pursued  his  favorite  speculations. 
Sometimes  he  spent  hours  together  in  the  great  libraries 
of  Paris,  those  catacombs  of  departed  authors,  rummaging 
among  their  hoards  of  dusty  and  obsolete  works  in  quest 
of  food  for  his  unhealthy  appetite.  He  was,  in  a  manner, 
a  literary  ghoul,  feeding  in  the  charnel-house  of  decayed 
literature. 

Wolfgang,  though  solitary  and  recluse,  was  of  an  ar- 
dent temperament,  but  for  a  time  it  operated  merely 
upon  his  imagination.  He  was  too  shy  and  ignorant 
of  the  world  to  make  any  advances  to  the  fair,  but  he 
was  a  passionate  admirer  of  female  beauty,  and  in  his 
lonely  chamber  would  often  lose  himself  in  reveries  on 


68  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLER. 

forms  and  faces  which  he  had  seen,  and  his  fancy 
would  deck  out  images  of  loveliness  far  surpassing  the 
reality. 

While  his  mind  was  in  this  excited  and  sublimated 
state,  a  dream  produced  an  extraordinary  effect  upon 
him.  It  was  of  a  female  face  of  transcendent  beauty. 
So  strong  was  the  impression  made,  that  he  dreamt  of  it 
again  and  again.  It  haunted  his  thoughts  by  day,  his 
slumbers  by  night ;  in  fine,  he  became  passionately  en- 
amoured of  this  shadow  of  a  dream.  This  lasted  so  long 
that  it  became  one  of  those  fixed  ideas  which  haunt  the 
minds  of  melancholy  men,  and  are  at  times  mistaken  for 
madness. 

Such  was  Gottfried  Wolfgang,  and  such  his  situation 
at  the  time  I  mentioned.  He  was  returning  home  late 
one  stormy  night,  through  some  of  the  old  and  gloomy 
streets  of  the  Marais,  the  ancient  part  of  Paris.  The 
loud  claps  of  thunder  rattled  among  the  high  houses  of 
the  narrow  streets.  He  came  to  the  Place  de  Greve,  the 
square  where  public  executions  are  performed.  The 
lightning  quivered  about  the  pinnacles  of  the  ancient 
Hotel  de  Yille,  and  shed  flickering  gleams  over  the  open 
space  in  front.  As  Wolfgang  was  crossing  the  square,  he 
shrank  back  with  horror  at  finding  himself  close  by  the 
guillotine.  It  was  the  height  of  the  reign  of  terror,  when 
this  dreadful  instrument  of  death  stood  ever  ready,  and 
its  scaffold  was  continually  running  with  the  blood  of  the 
virtuous  and  the  brave.     It  had  that  very  day  been  ac- 


THE  GERMAN  STUDENT.  69 

fcively  employed  in  the  work  of  carnage,  and  there  it 
stood  in  grim  array,  amidst  a  silent  and  sleeping  city, 
waiting  for  fresh  victims. 

Wolfgang's  heart  sickened  within  him,  and  he  was 
turning  shuddering  from  the  horrible  engine,  when  he 
beheld  a  shadowy  form,  cowering  as  it  were  at  the  foot 
of  the  steps  which  led  up  to  the  scaffold.  A  succession 
of  vivid  flashes  of  lightning  revealed  it  more  distinctly. 
It  was  a  female  figure,  dressed  in  black.  She  was  seated 
on  one  of  the  lower  steps  of  the  scaffold,  leaning  forward, 
her  face  hid  in  her  lap  ;  and  her  long  dishevelled  tresses 
hanging  to  the  ground,  streaming  with  the  rain  which 
fell  in  torrents.  Wolfgang  paused.  There  was  some- 
thing awful  in  this  solitary  monument  of  woe.  The  fe- 
male had  the  appearance  of  being  above  the  common 
order.  He  knew  the  times  to  be  full  of  vicissitude,  and 
that  many  a  fair  head,  which  had  once  been  pillowed  on 
down,  now  wandered  houseless.  Perhaps  this  was  some 
poor  mourner  whom  the  dreadful  axe  had  rendered  deso- 
late, and  who  sat  here  heart-broken  on  the  strand  of 
existence,  from  which  all  that  was  dear  to  her  had  been 
launched  into  eternity. 

He  approached,  and  addressed  her  in  the  accents  of 
sympathy.  She  raised  her  head  and  gazed  wildly  at  him. 
What  was  his  astonishment  at  beholding,  by  the  bright 
glare  of  the  lightning,  the  very  face  which  had  haunted 
him  in  his  dreams.  It  was  pale  and  disconsolate,  but 
ravishingly  beautiful. 


70  TALES  Oil'  A  TRAVELLER, 

Trembling  with  violent  and  conflicting  emotions,  Wolf- 
gang again  accosted  her.  He  spoke  something  of  her 
being  exposed  at  such  an  hour  of  the  night,  and  to  the 
fury  of  such  a  storm,  and  offered  to  conduct  her  to  her 
friends.  She  pointed  to  the  guillotine  with  a  gesture  of 
dreadful  signification. 

"  I  have  no  friend  on  earth !  "  said  she. 

"  But  you  have  a  home,"  said  Wolfgang. 

"  Yes — in  the  grave ! " 

The  heart  of  the  student  melted  at  the  words. 

"  If  a  stranger  dare  make  an  offer,"  said  he,  "  without 
danger  of  being  misunderstood,  I  would  offer  my  humble 
dwelling  as  a  shelter ;  myself  as  a  devoted  friend.  I  am 
friendless  myself  in  Paris,  and  a  stranger  in  the  land ; 
but  if  my  life  could  be  of  service,  it  is  at  your  disposal, 
and  should  be  sacrificed  before  harm  or  indignity  should 
come  to  you." 

There  was  an  honest  earnestness  in  the  young  man's 
manner  that  had  its  effect.  His  foreign  accent,  too,  was 
in  his  favor ;  it  showed  him  not  to  be  a  hackneyed  inhab- 
itant of  Paris.  Indeed,  there  is  an  eloquence  in  true  en- 
thusiasm that  is  not  to  be  doubted.  The  homeless  stran- 
ger confided  herself  implicitly  to  the  protection  of  the 
student. 

He  supported  her  faltering  steps  across  the  Pont  Neuf, 
and  by  the  place  where  the  statue  of  Henry  the  Fourth 
had  been  overthrown  by  the  populace.  The  storm  had 
abated,  and  the  thunder  rumbled  at  a  distance.     All 


TBE  GERMAN  STUDENT.  71 

Paris  was  quiet;  that  great  volcano  of  human  passion 
slumbered  for  a  while,  to  gather  fresh  strength  for  the 
next  day's  eruption.  The  student  conducted  his  charge 
through  the  ancient  streets  of  the  Pays  Latin,  and  by  the 
dusky  walls  of  the  Sorbonne,  to  the  great  dingy  hotel 
which  he  inhabited.  The  old  portress  who  admitted 
them  stared  with  surprise  at  the  unusual  sight  of  the 
melancholy  Wolfgang  with  a  female  companion. 

On  entering  his  apartment,  the  student,  for  the  first 
time,  blushed  at  the  scantiness  and  indifference  of  his 
dwelling.  He  had  but  one  chamber — an  old-fashioned 
saloon — heavily  carved,  and  fantastically  furnished  with 
the  remains  of  former  magnificence,  for  it  was  one  of 
those  hotels  in  the  quarter  of  the  Luxembourg  palace, 
which  had  once  belonged  to  nobility.  It  was  lum- 
bered with  books  and  papers,  and  all  the  usual  appa- 
ratus of  a  student,  and  his  bed  stood  in  a  recess  at  one 
end. 

When  lights  were  brought,  and  Wolfgang  had  a  better 
opportunity  of  contemplating  the  stranger,  he  was  more 
than  ever  intoxicated  by  her  beauty.  Her  face  was  pale, 
but  of  a  dazzling  fairness,  set  off  by  a  profusion  of  raven 
hair  that  hung  clustering  about  it.  Her  eyes  were  large 
and  brilliant,  with  a  singular  expression  approaching 
almost  to  wildness.  As  far  as  her  black  dress  permitted 
her  shape  to  be  seen,  it  was  of  perfect  symmetry.  Her 
whole  appearance  was  highly  striking,  though  she  was 
dressed  in  the  simplest  style.     The  only  thing  approach- 


72  ' '  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLEB. 

ing  to  an  ornament  which  she  wore,  was  a  broad  black 
band  round  her  neck,  clasped  by  diamonds. 

The  perplexity  now  commenced  with  the  student  how 
to  dispose  of  the  helpless  being  thus  thrown  upon  his 
protection.  He  thought  of  abandoning  his  chamber  to 
her,  and  seeking  shelter  for  himself  elsewhere.  Still,  he 
was  so  fascinated  by  her  charms,  there  seemed  to  be  such 
a  spell  upon  his  thoughts  and  senses,  that  he  could  not 
tear  himself  from  her  presence.  Her  manner,  too,  was 
singular  and  unaccountable.  She  spoke  no  more  of  the 
guillotine.  Her  grief  had  abated.  The  attentions  of 
the  student  had  first  won  her  confidence,  and  then, 
apparently,  her  heart.  She  was  evidently  an  enthusiast 
like  himself,  and  enthusiasts  soon  understand  each  other. 

In  the  infatuation  of  the  moment,  Wolfgang  avowed  his 
passion  for  her.  He  told  her  the  story  of  his  mysterious 
dream,  and  how  she  had  possessed  his  heart  before  he 
had  even  seen  her.  She  was  strangely  affected  by  his  re- 
cital, and  acknowledged  to  have  felt  an  impulse  towards 
him  equally  unaccountable.  It  was  the  time  for  wild 
theory  and  wild  actions.  Old  prejudices  and  super- 
stitions were  done  away ;  everything  was  under  the  sway 
of  the  "  Goddess  of  Keason."  Among  other  rubbish  of 
the  old  times,  the  forms  and  ceremonies  of  marriage 
began  to  be  considered  superfluous  bonds  for  honorable 
minds.  Social  compacts  were  the  vogue.  Wolfgang  was 
too  much  of  a  theorist  not  to  be  tainted  by  the  libera] 
doctrines  of  the  day. 


THE  GERMAN  STUDENT.  73 

f 

"  Why  should  we  separate  ?  "  said  lie  :  "  our  hearts  are 
united ;  in  the  eye  of  reason  and  honor  we  are  as  one. 
What  need  is  there  of  sordid  forms  to  bind  high  souls 
together  ?  " 

The  stranger  listened  with  emotion :  she  had  evidently 
received  illumination  at  the  same  school. 

"You  have  no  home  nor  family,"  continued  he:  "let 
me  be  everything  to  you,  or  rather  let  us  be  everything 
to  one  another.  If  form  is  necessary,  form  shall  be 
observed — there  is  my  hand.  I  pledge  myself  to  you 
forever." 

"  Forever  ?  "  said  the  stranger,  solemnly. 

"  Forever !  "  replied  Wolfgang. 

The  stranger  clasped  the  hand  extended  to  her : 
"  Then  I  am  yours,"  murmured  she,  and  sank  upon  his 
bosom. 

The  next  morning  the  student  left  his  bride  sleeping, 
and  sallied  forth  at  an  early  hour  to  seek  more  spa- 
cious apartments  suitable  to  the  change  in  his  situation. 
When  he  returned,  he  found  the '  stranger  lying  with 
her  head  hanging  over  the  bed,  and  one  arm  thrown 
over  it.  He  spoke  to  her,  but  received  no  reply.  He 
advanced  to  awaken  her  from  her  uneasy  posture.  On 
taking  her  hand,  it  was  cold — there  was  no  pulsation — 
her  face  was  pallid  and  ghastly.  In  a  word,  she  was  a 
corpse. 

Horrified  and  frantic,  he  alarmed  the  house.  A  scene 
of  confusion  ensued.     The   police  was   summoned.    As 


74  TALES  OF  A   TRA  YELLEB. 

the  officer  of  police  entered  tlie  room,  lie  started  back  on 
beholding  the  corpse. 

"  Great  heaven  !  "  cried  he,  "  how  did  this  woman  come 
here  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  her  ?  "  said  Wolfgang 
eagerly. 

"  Do  I  ?  "  exclaimed  the  officer  :  "  she  was  guillotined 
yesterday. 

He  stepped  forward ;  undid  the  black  collar  round  the 
neck  of  the  corpse,  and  the  head  rolled  on  the  floor  ! 

The  student  burst  into  a  frenzy.  "The  fiend!  the 
fiend  has  gained  possession  of  me ! "  shrieked  he  :  "I  am 
lost  forever." 

They  tried  to  soothe  him,  but  in  vain.  He  was  pos- 
sessed with  the  frightful  belief  that  an  evil  spirit  had 
reanimated  the  dead  body  to  ensnare  him.  He  went 
distracted,  and  died  in  a  mad-house. 

Here  the  old  gentleman  with  the  haunted  head  fin- 
ished his  narrative. 

"  And  is  this  really  a  fact  ?  "  said  the  inquisitive  gen- 
tleman. 

"A  fact  not  to  be  doubted,"  replied  the  other.  "I  had 
it  from  the  best  authority.  The  student  told  it  me  hi^co- 
self.     I  saw  him  in  a  mad-house  in  Paris." 


ADVENTUEE   OF  THE  MYSTEEIOUS 

PICTUEE. 

|S  one  story  of  a  kind  produces  another,  and  as 
all  the  company  seemed  fully  engrossed  with 
the  subject,  and  disposed  to  bring  their  rela- 
tives and  ancestors  upon  the  scene,  there  is  no  knowing 
how  many  more  strange  adventures  we  might  have  heard, 
had  not  a  corpulent  old  fox-hunter,  who  had  slept 
soundly  through  the  whole,  now  suddenly  awakened, 
with  a  loud  and  long-drawn  yawn.  The  sound  broke  the 
charm :  the  ghosts  took  to  flight,  as  though  it  had  been 
cock-crowing,  and  there  was  a  universal  move  for  bed. 

"And  now  for  the  haunted  chamber,"  said  the  Irish 
Captain,  taking  his  candle. 

"Ay,  who's  to  be  the  hero  of  the  night?  "  said  the  gen- 
tleman with  the  ruined  head. 

"That  we  shall  see  in  the  morning,"  said  the  old 
gentleman  with  the  nose :  "  whoever  looks  pale  and 
grizzly  will  have  seen  the  ghost." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Baronet,  "  there's  many  a 
true  thing  said  in  jest — in  fact,  one  of  you  will  sleep  in 
the  room  to-night  " 

"  What — a  haunted  room  ? — a  haunted  room  ? — ^I  claim 

75 


76  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLEB. 

the  adventure — and  I — and  I — and  I,"  said  a  dozen 
guests,  talking  and  laughing  at  the  same  time. 

"  No,  no,"  said  mine  host,  "  there  is  a  secret  about  one 
of  my  rooms  on  which  I  feel  disposed  to  try  an  experi- 
ment :  so,  gentlemen,  none  of  you  shall  know  who  has 
the  haunted  chamber  until  circumstances  reveal  it.  I 
will  not  even  know  it  myself,  but  will  leave  it  to  chance 
and  the  allotment  of  the  housekeeper.  At  the  same 
time,  if  it  will  be  any  satisfaction  to  you,  I  will  observe, 
for  the  honor  of  my  paternal  mansion,  that  there's 
scarcely  a  chamber  in  it  but  is  well  worthy  of  being 
haunted." 

We  now  separated  for  the  night,  and  each  went  to  his 
allotted  room.  Mine  was  in  one  wing  of  the  building,  and 
I  could  not  but  smile  at  its  resemblance  in  style  to  those 
eventful  apartments  described  in  the  tales  of  the  supper- 
table.  It  was  spacious  and  gloomy,  decorated  with 
lamp-black  portraits ;  a  bed  of  ancient  damask,  with  a 
tester  sufficiently  lofty  to  grace  a  couch  of  state,  and  a 
number  of  massive  pieces  of  old-fashioned  furniture.  I 
drew  a  great  claw-footed  arm-chair  before  the  wide  fire- 
place ;  stirred  up  the  fire ;  sat  looking  into  it,  and 
musing  upon  the  odd  stories  I  had  heard,  until,  partly 
overcome  by  the  fatigue  of  the  day's  hunting,  and  partly 
by  the  wine  and  wassail  of  mine  host,  I  fell  asleep  in  my 
chair. 

The  uneasiness  of  my  position  made  my  slumber 
troubled,  and  laid  me  at  the  mercy  of  all  kinds  of  wild 


THE  MYSTEBI0TI8  PICTURE.  77 

and  fearful  dreams.  Now  it  was  that  my  perfidious  din- 
ner and  supper  rose  in  rebellion  against  my  peace,  I  was 
hag-ridden  by  a  fat  saddle  of  mutton ;  a  plum-pudding 
weighed  like  lead  upon  my  conscience ;  the  merry-thought 
of  a  capon  filled  me  with  horrible  suggestions ;  and 
a  devilled  leg  of  a  turkey  stalked  in  all  kinds  of  dia- 
bolical shapes  through  my  imagination.  In  short,  I  had 
a  violent  fit  of  the  nightmare.  Some  strange,  indefinite 
evil  seemed  hanging  over  me  which  I  could  not  avert ; 
something  terrible  and  loathsome  oppressed  me  which  I 
could  not  shake  off.  I  was  conscious  of  being  asleep, 
and  strove  to  rouse  myself,  but  every  effort  redoubled 
the  evil ;  nntil  gasping,  struggling,  almost  strangling,  I 
suddenly  sprang  bolt  upright  in  my  chair,  and  awoke. 

The  light  on  the  mantel-piece  had  burnt  low,  and  the 
wick  was  divided ;  there  was  a  great  winding-sheet  made 
by  the  dripping  wax  on  the  side  towards  me.  The  dis- 
ordered taper  emitted  a  broad  flaring  flame,  and  threw  a 
strong  light  on  a  painting  over  the  fireplace  which  I  had 
not  hitherto  observed.  It  consisted  merely  of  a  head,  or 
rather  a  face,  staring  full  upon  me,  with  an  expression 
that  was  startling.  It  was  without  a  frame,  and  at  the 
first  glance  I  could  hardly  persuade  myself  that  it  was 
not  a  real  face  thrusting  itself  out  of  the  dark  oaken 
panel.  I  sat  in  my  chair  gazing  at  it,  and  the  more  I 
gazed,  the  more  it  disquieted  me.  I  had  never  before 
been  affected  in  the  same  way  by  any  painting.  The 
emotions  it  caused  were  strange  and  indefinite.     They 


78  TALES  OF  A    TEA  VELLER. 

ivere  something  like  what  I  have  heard  ascribed  to  the 
eyes  of  the  basilisk,  or  like  that  mysterious  influence  in 
reptiles  termed  fascination.  I  passed  my  hand  over  my 
eyes  several  times,  as  if  seeking  instinctively  to  brush 
away  the  illusion — in  vain.  They  instantly  reverted  to 
the  picture,  and  its  chilling,  creeping  influence  over  my 
flesh  and  blood  was  redoubled.  I  looked  round  the  room 
on  other  pictures,  either  to  divert  my  attention,  or  to  see 
whether  the  same  effect  would  be  produced  by  them. 
Some  of  them  were  grim  enough  to  produce  the  effect,  if 
the  mere  grimness  of  the  painting  produced  it. — No  such 
thing — my  eye  passed  over  them  all  with  perfect  indiffer- 
ence, but  the  moment  it  reverted  to  this  visage  over  the 
fireplace,  it  was  as  if  an  electric  shock  darted  through 
me.  The  other  pictures  were  dim  and  faded,  but  this 
one  protruded  from  a  plain  background  in  the  strongest 
relief,  and  with  wonderful  truth  of  coloring.  The  expres- 
sion was  that  of  agony — the  agony  of  intense  bodily  pain ; 
but  a  menace  scowled  upon  the  brow,  and  a  few  sprink- 
lings of  blood  added  to  its  ghastliness.  Yet  it  was  not 
all  these  characteristics ;  it  was  some  horror  of  the  mind, 
some  inscrutable  antipathy  awakened  by  this  picture, 
which  harrowed  up  my  feelings. 

I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  this  was  chimerical, 
that  my  brain  was  confused  by  the  fumes  of  mine  host's 
good  cheer,  and  in  some  measure  by  the  odd  stories 
about  paintings  which  had  been  told  at  supper.  I  de- 
termined to  shake  off  these  vapors  of  the  mind;  rose 


THE  MYSTEBIOUS  PICTURE.  79 

from  my  chair;  walked  about  the  room;  snapped  my 
fingers ;  rallied  myself ;  laughed  aloud. — It  was  a  forced 
laugh,  and  the  echo  of  it  in  the  old  chamber  jarred  upon 
my  ear. — I  walked  to  the  window,  and  tried  to  discern 
the  landscape  through  the  glass.  It  was  pitch  darkness, 
and  a  howling  storm  without ;  and  as  I  heard  the  wind 
moan  among  the  trees,  I  caught  a  reflection  of  this  ac- 
cursed visage  in  the  pane  of  glass,  as  though  it  were 
staring  through  the  window  at  me.  Even  the  reflection 
of  it  was  thrilling. 

How  was  this  vile  nervous  fit,  for  such  I  now  per- 
suaded myself  it  was,  to  be  conquered  ?  I  determined  to 
force  myself  not  to  look  at  the  painting,  but  to  undress 
quickly  and  get  into  bed. — I  began  to  undress,  but  in 
spite  of  every  effort  I  could  not  keep  myself  from  stealing 
a  glance  every  now  and  then  at  the  picture  ;  and  a  glance 
was  sufficient  to  distress  me.  Even  when  my  back  was 
turned  to  it,  the  idea  of  this  strange  face  behind  me, 
peeping  over  my  shoulder,  was  insupportable.  I  threw 
off  my  clothes  and  hurried  into  bed^  but  still  this  visage 
gazed  upon  me.  I  had  a  full  view  of  it  in  my  bed,  and 
for  some  time  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  it.  I  had 
grown  nervous  to  a  dismal  degree.  I  put  out  the  light, 
and  tried  to  force  myself  to  sleep — all  in  vain.  The  fire 
gleaming  up  a  little,  threw  an  uncertain  light  about  the 
room,  leaving,  however,  the  region  of  the  picture  in  deep 
shadow.  What,  thought  I,  if  this  be  the  chamber  about 
which  mine  host  spoke  as  having  a  mystery  reigning  over 


80  TALES  OF  A   TBA  VELLBB, 

it?  I  had  taken  his  words  merely  as  spoken  in  jest; 
might  they  have  a  real  import  ?  I  looked  around.  The 
faintly  lighted  apartment  had  all  the  qualifications  requi- 
site for  a  haunted  chamber.  It  began  in  my  infected 
imagination  to  assume  strange  appearances — the  old  por- 
traits turned  paler  and  paler,  and  blacker  and  blacker ; 
the  streaks  of  light  and  shadow  thrown  among  the  quaint 
articles  of  furniture  gave  them  more  singular  shapes  and 
characters. — There  was  a  huge  dark  clothes-press  of  an- 
tique form,  gorgeous  in  brass  and  lustrous  with  wax,  that 
began  to  grow  oppressive  to  me. 

"Am  I  then,"  thought  I,  "indeed  the  hero  of  the 
haunted  room  ?  Is  there  really  a  spell  laid  upon  me,  or 
is  this  all  some  contrivance  of  mine  host  to  raise  a  laugh 
at  my  expense  ?  "  The  idea  of  being  hag-ridden  by  my 
own  fancy  all  night,  and  then  bantered  on  my  haggard 
looks  the  next  day,  was  intolerable ;  but  the  very  idea 
was  sufficient  to  produce  the  effect,  and  to  render  me  still 
more  nervous. — "  Pish,"  said  I,  "  it  can  be  no  such  thing. 
How  could  my  worthy  host  imagine  that  I,  or  any  man, 
would  be  so  worried  by  a  mere  picture  ?  It  is  my  own 
diseased  imagination  that  torments  me." 

I  turned  in  bed,  and  shifted  from  side  to  side,  to  try  to 
fall  asleep ;  but  all  in  vain ;  when  one  cannot  get  asleep 
by  lying  quiet,  it  is  seldom  that  tossing  about  will  effect 
the  purpose.  The  fire  gradually  went  out,  and  left  the 
room  in  total  darkness.  Still  I  had  the  idea  of  that  inex- 
plicable countenance  gazing  and  keeping  watch  upon  m« 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE.  81 

through  the  gloom — nay,  what  was  worse,  the  very  dark- 
ness seemed  to  magnify  its  terrors.  It  was  like  having 
an  unseen  enemy  hanging  about  one  in  the  night.  In- 
stead of  having  one  picture  now  to  worry  me,  I  had  a 
hundred.  I  fancied  it  in  every  direction — "  There  it  is," 
thought  I,  "  and  there  !  and  there  !  with  its  horrible  and 
mysterious  expression  still  gazing  and  gazing  on  me! 
No — if  I  must  suffer  the  strange  and  dismal  influence,  it 
were  better  face  a  single  foe  than  thus  be  haunted  by  a 
thousand  images  of  it." 

Whoever  has  been  in  a  state  of  nervous  agitation,  must 
know  that  the  longer  it  continues  the  more  uncontrol- 
lable it  grows.  The  very  air  of  the  chamber  seemed  at 
length  infected  by  the  baleful  presence  of  this  picture.  I 
fancied  it  hovering  over  me.  I  almost  felt  the  fearful  vis- 
age from  the  wall  ajDproaching  my  face — it  seemed  breath- 
ing upon  me.  "  This  is  not  to  be  borne,"  said  I,  at  length, 
springing  out  of  bed :  "  I  can  stand  this  no  longer — I 
shall  only  tumble  and  toss  about  here  all  night ;  make  a 
very  spectre  of  myself,  and  become  the  hero  of  the 
haunted  chamber  in  good  earnest.  Whatever  be  the  ill 
consequences,  I'll  quit  this  cursed  room  and  seek  a 
night's  rest  elsewhere — they  can  but  laugh  at  me,  at  all 
events,  and  they'll  be  sure  to  have  the  laugh  upon  me  if 
I  pass  a  sleepless  night,  and  show  them  a  haggard  and 
woe-begone  visage  in  the  morning." 

All  this  was  half- muttered  to  myself  as  I  hastily 
slipped  on  my  clothes,  which  having  done,  I  groped  my 
6 


82  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

way  out  of  the  room  and  down-stairs  to  tlie  drawing- 
room.  Here,  after  tumbling  over  two  or  three  pieces  of 
furniture,  I  made  out  to  reach,  a  sofa,  and  stretching  my- 
self upon  it,  determined  to  bivouac  there  for  the  night. 
The  moment  I  found  myself  out  of  the  neighborhood  of 
that  strange  picture,  it  seemed  as  if  the  charm  were 
broken.  All  its  influence  was  at  an  end.  I  felt  assured 
that  it  was  confined  to  its  own  dreary  chamber,  for  I  had, 
with  a  sort  of  instinctive  caution,  turned  the  key  when  I 
closed  the  door.  I  soon  calmed  down,  therefore,  into  a 
state  of  tranquillity;  from  that  into  a  drowsiness,  and 
finally  into  a  deep  sleep  ;  out  of  which  I  did  not  awake 
until  the  housemaid,  with  her  besom  and  her  matin-song, 
came  to  put  the  room  in  order.  She  stared  at  finding  me 
stretched  upon  the  sofa,  but  I  presume  circumstances  of 
the  kind  were  not  uncommon  after  hunting-dinners  in 
her  master's  bachelor  establishment,  for  she  went  on 
with  her  song  and  her  work,  and  took  no  further  heed 
of  me. 

I  had  an  unconquerable  repugnance  lo  return  to  my 
chamber;  so  I  found  my  way  to  the  butler's  quarters, 
made  my  toilet  in  the  best  way  circumstances  would  per- 
mit,  and  was  among  the  first  to  appear  at  the  breakfast- 
table.  Our  breakfast  was  a  substantial  fox-hunter's  repast, 
and  the  company  generally  assembled  at  it.  When  ample 
justice  had  been  done  to  the  tea,  coJffee,  cold  meats,  and 
humming  ale,  for  all  these  were  furnished  in  abundance, 
according  to  the  tastes  of  the  different  guests,  the  con- 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE.  33 

versation  began  to  break  out  with  all  tlie  liveliness  and 
freshness  of  morning  mirth. 

"  But  who  is  the  hero  of  the  hannted  chamber — who 
has  seen  the  ghost  last  night  ?  "  said  the  inquisitive  gen- 
tleman, rolling  his  lobster-eyes  about  the  table. 

The  question  set  every  tongue  in  motion ;  a  vast  deal 
of  bantering,  criticizing  of  countenances,  of  mutual  accu- 
sation and  retort  took  place.  Some  had  drunk  deep,  and 
some  were  unshaven,  so  that  there  were  suspicious  faces 
enough  in  the  assembly.  I  alone  could  not  enter  with 
ease  and  vivacity  into  the  joke — I  felt  tongue-tied,  embar- 
rassed. A  recollection  of  what  I  had  seen  and  felt  the 
preceding  night  still  haunted  my  mind.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  mysterious  picture  still  held  a  thrall  upon  me.  I 
thought  also  that  our  host's  eye  was  turned  on  me  with 
an  air  of  curiosity.  In  short,  I  was  conscious  that  I  was 
the  hero  of  the  night,  and  felt  as  if  every  one  might  read 
it  in  my  looks.  The  joke,  however,  passed  over,  and  no 
suspicion  seemed  to  attach  to  me.  I  was  just  congratu- 
lating myself  on  my  escape,  when  a  servant  came  in  say- 
ing, that  the  gentleman  who  had  slept  on  the  sofa  in  the 
drawing-room  had  left  his  watch  under  one  of  the  pillows. 
My  repeater  was  in  his  hand. 

*'  What ! "  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  "  did  any 
gentleman  sleep  on  the  sofa  ?  " 

"  Soho  !  soho !  a  hare — a  hare !  "  cried  the  old  gentle- 
man with  the  flexible  nose. 

I  could  not  avoid  acknowledging  the  watch,  and  was 


84  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

rising  in  great  confusion,  when  a  boisterous  old  squire 
who  sat  beside  me  exclaimed,  slapping  me  on  the  shoul- 
der, "  'Sblood,  lad,  thou  art  the  man  as  has  seen  the 
ghost ! " 

The  attention  of  the  company  was  immediately  turned 
on  me  :  if  my  face  had  been  pale  the  moment  before,  it 
now  glowed  almost  to  burning.  I  tried  to  laugh,  but 
could  only  make  a  grimace,  and  found  the  muscles  of  my 
face  twitching  at  sixes  and  sevens,  and  totally  out  of  all 
control. 

It  takes  but  little  to  raise  a  laugh  among  a  set  of  fox- 
hunters  ;  there  was  a  world  of  merriment  and  joking  on 
the  subject,  and  as  I  never  relished  a  joke  overmuch 
when  it  was  at  my  own  expense,  I  began  to  feel  a  little 
nettled.  I  tried  to  look  cool  and  calm,  and  to  restrain 
my  pique ;  but  the  coolness  and  calmness  of  a  man  in  a 
passion  are  confounded  treacherous. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  I,  with  a  slight  cocking  of  the  chin 
and  a  bad  attempt  at  a  smile,  "  this  is  all  very  pleasant — ■ 
ha !  ha ! — very  pleasant — but  I'd  have  you  know,  I  am  as 
little  superstitious  as  any  of  you — ha !  ha ! — and  as  to 
anything  like  timidity — you  may  smile,  gentlemen,  but  I 
trust  there's  no  one  here  means  to  insinuate,  that — as  to 
a  room's  being  haunted — I  repeat,  gentlemen,  (growing  a 
little  warm  at  seeing  a  cursed  grin  breaking  out  round 
me,)  as  to  a  room's  being  haunted,  I  have  as  little  faith 
in  such  silly  stories  as  any  one.  But,  since  you  put  the 
matter  home  to  me,  I  will  say  that  I  have  met  with  some- 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  PICTURE.  §5 

thing  in  my  room  strange  and  inexplicable  to  me.  (A 
shout  of  laughter.)  Gentlemen,  I  am  serious  ;  I  know 
well  what  I  am  saying ;  I  am  calm,  gentlemen,  (striking 
my  fist  upon  the  table,)  by  Heaven  I  am  calm.  I 
am  neither  trifling,  nor  do  I  wish  to  be  trifled  with. 
(The  laughter  of  the  company  suppressed,  and  with 
ludicrous  attempts  at  gravity.)  There  is  a  picture  in 
the  room  in  which  I  was  put  last  night,  that  has  had 
an  effect  upon  me  the  most  singular  and  incompre- 
hensible." 

"  A  picture  ?  "  said  the  old  gentleman  with  the  haunted 
head.  "  A  picture  !  "  cried  the  narrator  with  the  nose. 
"  A  picture  !  a  picture  !  "  echoed  several  voices.  Here 
there  was  an  ungovernable  peal  of  laughter.  I  could 
not  contain  myself.  I  started  up  from  my  seat ;  looked 
round  on  the  company  with  fiery  indignation ;  thrust 
both  of  my  hands  into  my  pockets,  and  strode  up  to 
one  of  the  windows  as  though  I  would  have  walked 
through  it.  I  stopped  short,  looked  out  upon  the  land- 
scape without  distinguishing  a  feature  of  it,  and  felt 
my  gorge  rising  almost  to  suffocation. 

Mine  host  saw  it  was  time  to  interfere.  He  had  main- 
tained an  air  of  gravity  through  the  whole  of  the  scene  ; 
and  now  stepped  forth,  as  if  to  shelter  me  from  the  over- 
whelming merriment  of  my  companions. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  dislike  to  spoil  sport,  but 
you  have  had  your  laugh,  and  the  joke  of  the  haunted 
chamber  has  been  enjoyed.     I  must  now  take  the  part  of 


35  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLER 

my  guest.  I  must  not  only  vindicate  him  from  your 
pleasantries,  but  I  must  reconcile  him  to  himself,  for  I 
suspect  he  is  a  little  out  of  humor  with  his  own  feelings  ; 
and,  above  all,  I  must  crave  his  pardon  for  having  made 
him  the  subject  of  a  kind  of  experiment.  Yes,  gentlemen, 
there  is  something  strange  and  peculiar  in  the  chamber 
to  which  our  friend  was  shown  last  night;  there  is  a 
picture  in  my  house  which  possesses  a  singular  and  mys- 
terious influence,  and  with  which  there  is  connected  a 
very  curious  story.  It  is  a  picture  to  which  I  attach  a 
value  from  a  variety  of  circumstances ;  and  though  I  have 
often  been  tempted  to  destroy  it,  from  the  odd  and 
uncomfortable  sensations  which  it  produces  in  every  one 
that  beholds  it,  yet  I  have  never  been  able  to  prevail 
upon  myself  to  make  the  sacrifice.  It  is  a  picture  I 
never  like  to  look  upon  myself,  and  which  is  held  in  awe 
by  all  my  servants.  I  have  therefore  banished  it  to  a 
room  but  rarely  used,  and  should  have  had  it  covered 
last  night,  had  not  the  nature  of  our  conversation,  and 
the  whimsical  talk  about  a  haunted  chamber,  tempted  me 
to  let  it  remain,  by  way  of  experiment,  to  see  whether  a 
stranger,  totally  unacquainted  with  its  story,  would  be 
affected  by  it." 

The  words  of  the  Baronet  had  turned  every  thought 
into  a  different  channel.  All  were  anxious  to  hear  the 
story  of  the  mysterious  picture  ;  and,  for  myself,  so 
strangely  were  my  feelings  interested,  that  I  forgot  to 
feel  piqued  at  the  experiment  my  host  had  made  upon 


THE  MYSTERIOnS  PIG  TIRE.  87 

my  nerves,  and  joined  eagerly  in  tlie  general  entreaty. 
As  the  morning  was  stormy,  and  denied  all  egress, 
my  host  was  glad  of  any  means  of  entertaining  his  com- 
pany ;  so,  drawing  his  arm-chair  towards  the  fire,  he 
begaB^ 


ADVEISTTUEE   OF  THE  MYSTERIOUIS 
STKANGEK. 

ANY  years  since,  wlien  I  was  a  young  man,  and 
had  just  left  Oxford,  I  was  sent  on  the  grand 
tour  to  finish  my  education.  I  believe  my  pa- 
rents had  tried  in  vain  to  inoculate  me  with  wisdom ;  so 
they  sent  me  to  mingle  with  society,  in  hopes  that  I 
might  take  it  the  natural  way.  Such,  at  least,  appears 
the  reason  for  which  nine-tenths  of  our  youngsters  are 
sent  abroad.  In  the  course  of  my  tour  I  remained  some 
time  at  Venice.  The  romantic  character  of  that  place 
delighted  me  ;  I  was  very  much  amused  by  the  air  of 
adventure  and  intrigue  prevalent  in  this  region  of  masks 
and  gondolas ;  and  I  was  exceedingly  smitten  by  a  pair 
of  languishing  black  eyes,  that  played  upon  my  heart 
from  under  an  Italian  mantle ;  so  I  persuaded  myself 
that  I  was  lingering  at  Venice  to  study  men  and  man- 
ners ;  at  least  I  persuaded  my  friends  so,  and  that  an- 
swered all  my  purposes. 

I  was  a  little  prone  to  be  struck  by  peculiarities  in 
character  and  conduct,  and  my  imagination  was  so  full 
of  romantic  associations  with  Italy  that  I  was  always  on 

88 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANG ER.  89 

tte  look-out  for  adventure.  Eyerything  chimed  in  with 
such  a  humor  in  this  old  mermaid  of  a  city.  My  suite  of 
apartments  were  in  a  proud,  melancholy  palace  on  the 
grand  canal,  formerly  the  residence  of  a  magnifico,  and 
sumptuous  with  the  traces  of  decayed  grandeur.  My 
gondolier  was  one  of  the  shrewdest  of  his  class,  active, 
merry,  intelligent,  and,  like  his  brethren,  secret  as  the 
grave ;  that  is  to  say,  secret  to  all  the  world  except  his 
master.  I  had  not  had  him  a  week  before  he  put  me 
behind  all  the  curtains  in  Venice.  I  like  the  silence  and 
mystery  of  the  place,  and  when  I  sometimes  saw  from  my 
window  a  black  gondola  gliding  mysteriously  along  in 
the  dusk  of  the  evening,  with  nothing  visible  but  its  little 
glimmering  lantern,  I  would  jump  into  my  own  zende- 
letta,  and  give  a  signal  for  pursuit — "  But  I  am  running 
away  from  my  subject  with  the  recollection  of  youthful 
follies,"  said  the  Baronet,  checking  himself.  "Let  us 
come  to  the  point." 

Among  my  familiar  resorts  was  a  casino  under  the 
arcades  on  one  side  of  the  grand  square  of  St.  Mark. 
Here  I  used  frequently  to  lounge  and  take  my  ice,  on 
those  warm  summer-nights,  when  in  Italy  everybody 
lives  abroad  until  morning.  I  was  seated  here  one  even- 
ing, when  a  group  of  Italians  took  their  seat  at  a  table 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  saloon.  Their  conversation 
was  gay  and  animated,  and  carried  on  with  Italian  vivac- 
ity and  gesticulation.  I  remarked  among  them  one 
young  man,  however,  who  appeared  to  take  no  share, 


90  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLEB, 

and  find  no  enjoyment  in  the  conversation,  though  he 
seemed  to  force  himself  to  attend  to  it.  He  was  tall  and 
slender,  and  of  extremely  prepossessing  appearance.  His 
features  were  fine,  though  emaciated.  He  had  a  profu- 
sion of  black  glossy  hair,  that  curled  lightly  about  his 
head,  and  contrasted  with  the  extreme  paleness  of  his 
countenance.  His  brow  was  haggard ;  deep  furrows 
seemed  to  have  been  ploughed  into  his  visage  by  care, 
not  by  age,  for  he  was  evidently  in  the  prime  of  youth. 
His  eye  was  full  of  expression  and  fire,  but  wild  and  un- 
steady. He  seemed  to  be  tormented  by  some  strange 
fancy  or  apprehension.  In  spite  of  every  effort  to  fix 
his  attention  on  the  conversation  of  his  companions,  I 
noticed  that  every  now  and  then  he  would  turn  his  head 
slowly  round,  give  a  glance  over  his  shoulder,  and  then 
withdraw  it  with  a  sudden  jerk,  as  if  something  painful 
met  his  eye.  This  was  repeated  at  intervals  of  about  a 
minute,  and  he  appeared  hardly  to  have  recovered  from 
one  shock,  before  I  saw  him  slowly  preparing  to  encoun- 
ter another. 

After  sitting  some  time  in  the  casino,  the  party  paid 
for  the  refreshment  they  had  taken,  and  departed.  The 
young  man  was  the  last  to  leave  the  saloon,  and  I  re- 
marked him  glancing  behind  him  in  the  same  way,  just 
as  he  passed  out  of  the  door.  I  could  not  resist  the  im- 
pulse to  rise  and  follow  him ;  for  I  was  at  an  age  when  a 
romantic  feeling  of  curiosity  is  easily  awakened.  The 
party  walked    slowly    down    the    arcades,   talking  and 


TBE  MTSTEBIOUS  STRANGER.  91 

laiigliing  as  tliey  went.  They  crossed  tlie  Piazotta,  but 
paused  in  the  middle  of  it  to  enjoy  the  scene.  It  was 
one  of  those  moonlight  nights,  so  brilliant  and  clear  in 
the  pure  atmosphere  of  Italy.  The  moonbeams  streamed 
on  the  tall  tower  of  St.  Mark,  and  lighted  up  the  magnifi- 
cent front  and  swelling  domes  of  the  cathedral.  The 
party  expressed  their  delight  in  animated  terms.  I  kept 
my  eye  upon  the  young  man.  He  alone  seemed  ab- 
stracted and  self-occupied.  I  noticed  the  same  singu- 
lar and,  as  it  were,  furtive  glance  over  the  shoulder, 
which  had  attracted  my  attention  in  the  casino.  The 
party  moved  on,  and  I  followed ;  they  passed  along  the 
walk  called  the  Broglio,  turned  the  corner  of  the  Ducal 
Palace,  and  getting  into  the  gondola,  glided  swiftly 
away. 

The  countenance  and  conduct  of  this  young  man  dwelt 
upon  my  mind,  and  interested  me  exceedingly.  I  met  him 
a  day  or  two  afterwards  in  a  gallery  of  paintings.  He  was 
evidently  a  connoisseur,  for  he  always  singled  out  the 
most  masterly  productions,  and  a  few  remarks  drawn 
from  him  by  his  companions  showed  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  art.  His  own  taste,  however,  ran  on 
singular  extremes.  On  Salvator  Kosa,  in  his  most  sav- 
age and  solitary  scenes  ;  on  Raphael,  Titian,  and  Cor- 
reggio,  in  their  softest  delineations  of  female  beauty; 
on  these  he  would  occasionally  gaze  with  transient 
enthusiasm.  But  this  seemed  only  a  momentary  for- 
getfulness.     Still  would  recur  that  cautious  glance  be* 


92  TALES  OF  A   TRAVELLER. 

hind,  and  always  quickly  withdrawn,  as  though  some- 
thing terrible  met  his  view. 

I  encountered  him  frequently  afterwards  at  the  theatre, 
at  balls,  at  concerts ;  at  promenades  in  the  gardens  of 
San  Georgia ;  at  the  grotesque  exhibitions  in  the  square 
of  St.  Mark ;  among  the  throng  of  merchants  on  the  ex- 
change by  the  Eialto.  He  seemed,  in  fact,  to  seek 
crowds ;  to  hunt  after  bustle  and  amusement ;  yet  never 
to  take  any  interest  in  either  the  business  or  the  gayety 
of  the  scene.  Ever  an  air  of  painful  thought,  of  wretched 
abstraction;  and  ever  that  strange  and  recurring  move- 
ment of  glancing  fearfully  over  the  shoulder.  I  did  not 
know  at  first  but  this  might  be  caused  by  apprehension 
of  arrest ;  or,  perhaps,  from  dread  of  assassination.  But 
if  so,  why  should  he  go  thus  continually  abroad  ?  why  ex- 
pose himself  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  ? 

I  became  anxious  to  know  this  stranger.  I  was  drawn 
to  him  by  that  romantic  sympathy  which  sometimes 
draws  young  men  towards  each  other.  His  melancholy 
threw  a  charm  about  him,  no  doubt  heightened  by  the 
touching  expression  of  his  countenance,  and  the  manly 
graces  of  his  person  ;  for  manly  beauty  has  its  effect 
even  upon  men.  I  had  an  Englishman's  habitual  diffi- 
dence and  awkwardness  to  contend  with ;  but  from  fre- 
quently meeting  him  in  the  casinos,  I  gradually  edged  my- 
self into  his  acquaintance.  I  had  no  reserve  on  his  part 
to  contend  with.  He  seemed,  on  the  contrary,  to  court 
society ;  and,  in  fact,  to  seek  any  thing  rather  than  be  alone. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER.  93 

When  he  found  that  I  really  took  an  interest  in  him, 
he  threw  himself  entirely  on  my  friendship.  He  clung  to 
me  like  a  drowning  man.  He  would  walk  with  me  for 
hours  up  and  down  the  place  of  St.  Mark — or  would  sit, 
until  night  was  far  advanced,  in  my  apartments.  He  took 
rooms  under  the  same  roof  with  me ;  and  his  constant  re- 
quest was  that  I  would  permit  him,  when  it  did  not  in- 
commode me,  to  sit  by  me  in  my  saloon.  It  was  not  that 
he  seemed  to  take  a  particular  delight  in  my  conversa- 
tion, but  rather  that  he  craved  the  vicinity  of  a  human 
being ;  and,  above  all,  of  a  being  that  sympathized  with 
him.  "  I  have  often  heard,"  said  he,  "  of  the  sincerity  of 
Englishmen — thank  God  I  have  one  at  length  for  a 
friend !  " 

Yet  he  never  seemed  disposed  to  avail  himself  of  my 
sympathy  other  than  by  mere  companionship.  He  never 
sought  to  unbosom  himself  to  me  :  there  appeared  to  be 
a  settled  corroding  anguish  in  his  bosom  that  neither 
could  be  soothed  "  by  silence  nor  by  speaking." 

A  devouring  melancholy  preyed  upon  his  heart,  and 
seemed  to  be  drying  up  the  very  blood  in  his  veins.  It 
was  not  a  soft  melancholy,  the  disease  of  the  affections, 
but  a  parching,  withering  agony.  I  could  see  at  times 
that  his  mouth  was  dry  and  feverish ;  he  panted  rather 
than  breathed ;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot ;  his  cheeks  pale 
and  livid ;  with  now  and  then  faint  streaks  of  red  athwart 
them,  baleful  gleams  of  the  fire  that  was  consuming  his 
heart.     As  my  arm  was  within  his,  I  felt  him  press  it  at 


94  TALES  OF  A  TRA  TELLER. 

times  with  a  convulsive  motion  to  his  side ;  his  hands 
would  clinch  themselves  involuntarily,  and  a  kind  of 
shudder  would  run  through  his  frame. 

I  reasoned  with  him  about  his  melancholy,  sought  to 
draw  from  him  the  cause  ;  he  shrunk  from  all  confiding '. 
"  Do  not  seek  to  know  it,"  said  he,  "you  could  not  relieve 
it  if  you  knew  it ;  you  would  not  even  seek  to  relieve  it. 
On  the  contrary,  I  should  lose  your  sympathy,  and  that," 
said  he,  pressing  my  hand  convulsively,  "  that  I  feel  has 
become  too  dear  to  me  to  risk." 

I  endeavored  to  awaken  hope  within  him.  He  was 
young ;  life  had  a  thousand  pleasures  in  store  for  him ; 
there  was  a  healthy  reaction  in  the  youthful  heart;  it 
medicines  all  its  own  wounds ;  "  Come,  come,"  said  I, 
"  there  is  no  grief  so  great  that  youth  cannot  outgrow  it." 
— "No!  no!"  said  he,  clinching  his  teeth,  and  striking 
repeatedly,  with  the  energy  of  despair,  on  his  bosom, — 
"  it  is  here  I  here  !  deep-rooted ;  draining  my  heart's 
blood.  It  grows  and  grows,  while  my  heart  withers 
and  withers.  I  have  a  dreadful  monitor  that  gives 
me  no  repose — that  follows  me  step  by  step — and 
will  follow  me  step  by  step,  until  it  pushes  me  into  my 
grave ! " 

As  he  said  this  he  involuntarily  gave  one  of  those  fear- 
ful glances  over  his  shoulder,  and  shrunk  back  with  more 
than  usual  horror.  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation  to 
allude  to  this  movement,  which  I  supposed  to  be  some 
mere  malady  of  the  nerves.    The  moment  I  mentioned  it, 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER.  95 

his  face  became  crimsoned  and  convulsed ;  he  grasped  me 
bj  both  hands — 

"  For  God's  sake,"  exclaimed  he,  with  a  piercing  voice, 
"  never  allude  to  that  again. — Let  us  avoid  this  subject, 
my  friend;  you  cannot  relieve  me,  indeed  you  cannot 
relieve  me,  but  you  may  add  to  the  torments  I  suffer. — 
At  some  future  day  you  shall  know  all." 

I  never  resumed  the  subject ;  for  however  much  my 
curiosity  might  be  roused,  I  felt  too  true  a  compassion 
for  his  sufferings  to  increase  them  by  my  intrusion.  I 
sought  various  ways  to  divert  his  mind,  and  to  arouse 
him  from  the  constant  meditations  in  which  he  was 
plunged.  He  saw  my  efforts,  and  seconded  them  as  far 
as  in  his  power,  for  there  was  nothing  moody  or  wayward 
in  his  nature.  On  the  contrary,  there  was  something 
frank,  generous,  unassuming,  in  his  whole  deportment. 
All  the  sentiments  he  uttered  were  noble  and  lofty.  He 
claimed  no  indulgence,  asked  no  toleration,  but  seemed 
content  to  carry  his  load  of  misery  in  silence,  and  only 
sought  to  carry  it  by  my  side.  There  was  a  mute 
beseeching  manner  about  him,  as  if  he  craved  com- 
panionship as  a  charitable  boon ;  and  a  tacit  thankful- 
ness in  his  looks,  as  if  he  felt  grateful  to  me  for  not 
repulsing  him. 

I  felt  this  melancholy  to  be  infectious.  It  stole  over 
my  spirits ;  interfered  with  all  my  gay  pursuits,  and 
gradually  saddened  my  life  ;  yet  I  could  not  prevail  upon 
myself  to  shake  off  a  being  who  seemed  to  hang  upon  me 


96  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB, 

for  support.  In  truth,  the  generous  traits  of  character 
which  beamed  through  all  his  gloom  penetrated  to  my 
heart.  His  bounty  was  lavish  and  open-handed;  his 
charity  melting  and  spontaneous ;  not  confined  to  mere 
donations,  which  humiliate  as  much  as  they  relieve.  The 
tone  of  his  voice,  the  beam  of  his  eye,  enhanced  every 
gift,  and  surprised  the  poor  suppliant  with  that  rarest 
and  sweetest  of  charities,  the  charity  not  merely  of  the 
hand,  but  of  the  heart.  Indeed  his  liberality  seemed  to 
have  something  in  it  of  self-abasement  and  expiation. 
He,  in  a  manner,  humbled  himself  before  the  mendicant. 
"What  right  have  I  to  ease  and  affluence" — would  he 
murmur  to  himself — "when  innocence  wanders  in  misery 
and  rags  ?  " 

The  carnival-time  arrived.  I  hoped  the  gay  scenes 
then  presented  might  have  some  cheering  effect.  I  min- 
gled with  him  in  the  motley  throng  that  crowded  the 
place  of  St.  Mark.  We  frequented  operas,  masquerades, 
balls — all  in  vain.  The  evil  kept  growing  on  him.  He 
became  more  and  more  haggard  and  agitated.  Often, 
after  we  had  returned  from  one  of  these  scenes  of  rev- 
elry, I  have  entered  his  room  and  found  him  lying  on  his 
face  on  the  sofa;  his  hands  clinched  in  his  fine  hair,  and 
his  whole  countenance  bearing  traces  of  the  convulsions 
of  his  mind. 

The  carnival  passed  away ;  the  time  of  Lent  suc- 
ceeded ;  passion- week  arrived  ;  we  attended  one  evening 
a  solemn  service  in  one  of  the  churches,  in  the  course  of 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER.  97 

which  a  grand  piece  of  vocal  and  instrumental  music  was 
performed  relating  to  the  death  of  our  Saviour. 

I  had  remarked  that  he  was  always  powerfully  affected 
by  music ;  on  this  occasion  he  was  so  in  an  extraordinary 
degree.  As  the  pealing  notes  swelled  through  the  lofty 
aisles,  he  seemed  to  kindle  with  fervor ;  his  eyes  rolled 
upwards,  until  nothing  but  the  whites  were  visible ;  his 
hands  were  clasped  together,  until  the  fingers  were 
deeply  imprinted  in  the  flesh.  When  the  music  expressed 
the  dying  agony,  his  face  gradually  sank  upon  his  knees  ; 
and  at  the  touching  words  resounding  through  the 
church,  "  Jesu  mori^''  sobs  burst  from  him  uncontrolled — 
I  had  never  seen  him  weep  before.  His  had  always  been 
agony  rather  than  sorrow.  I  augured  well  from  the  cir- 
cumstance, and  let  him  weep  on  uninterrupted.  When 
the  service  was  ended,  we  left  the  church.  He  hung  on 
my  arm  as  we  walked  homewards  with  something  of  a 
softer  and  more  subdued  manner,  instead  of  that  nervous 
agitation  I  had  been  accustomed  to  witness.  He  alluded 
to  the  service  we  had  heard.  "  Music,"  said  he,  "  is  in- 
deed the  voice  of  heaven ;  never  before  have  I  felt  more 
impressed  by  the  story  of  the  atonement  of  our  Saviour. 
— Yes,  my  friend,"  said  he,  clasping  his  hands  with  a 
kind  of  transport,  "  I  know  that  my  Eedeemer  liveth  !  " 

We  parted  for  the  night.     His  room  was  not  far  from 

mine,  and  I  heard  him  for  some  time  busied  in  it.     I  fell 

asleep,  but  was  awakened  before  daylight.     The  young 

man  stood  by  my  bedside,  dressed  for  travelling.     He 

7 


98  TALES  OF  A    TRA  VELLER. 

held  a  sealed  packet  and   a  large  parcel  in  his   hand^ 
which  he  laid  on  the  table. 

"Farewell,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "  I  am  about  to  set 
forth  on  a  long  journey ;  but,  before  I  go,  I  leave  with 
you  these  remembrances.  In  this  packet  you  will  find 
the  particulars  of  my  story.  When  you  read  them  I 
shall  be  far  away ;  do  not  remember  me  with  aversion. — 
You  have  been  indeed  a  friend  to  me. — You  have  poured 
oil  into  a  broken  heart,  but  you  could  not  heal  it.  Fare- 
well !  let  me  kiss  your  hand — I  am  unworthy  to  embrace 
you."  He  sank  on  his  knees,  seized  my  hand  in  despite 
of  my  efforts  to  the  contrary,  and  covered  it  with  kisses. 
I  was  so  surprised  by  all  the  scene,  that  I  had  not  been 
able  to  say  a  word. — "But  we  shall  meet  again,"  said 
I,  hastily,  as  I  saw  him  hurrying  towards  the  door. 
"  Never,  never,  in  this  world  !  "  said  he,  solemnly. — He 
sprang  once  more  to  my  bedside — seized  my  hand, 
pressed  it  to  his  heart  and  to  his  lips,  and  rushed  out  of 
the  room. 

Here  the  Baronet  paused.  He  seemed  lost  in  thought, 
and  sat  looking  upon  the  floor,  and  drumming  with  his 
fingers  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"And  did  this  mysterious  personage  return?"  said  the 
inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  Never  !  "  replied  the  Baronet,  with  a  pensive  shake 
of  the  head, — "  I  never  saw  him  again." 

"  And  pray  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  picture  ?  ** 
inquired  the  old  gentleman  with  the  nose. 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  STEAIfGEB.  99 

"  True,"  said  the  questioner  ;  "  is  it  the  portrait  of  that 
crack-brained  Italian  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  Baronet,  dryly,  not  half  liking  the  ap- 
pellation given  to  his  hero ;  "  but  this  picture  was  en- 
closed in  the  parcel  he  left  with  me.  The  sealed  packet 
contained  its  explanation.  There  was  a  request  on  the 
outside  that  I  would  not  open  it  until  six  months  had 
elapsed.  I  kept  my  promise  in  spite  of  my  curiosity. 
I  have  a  translation  of  it  by  me,  and  had  meant  to  read 
it,  by  way  of  accounting  for  the  mystery  of  the  chamber  ; 
but  I  fear  I  have  already  detained  the  company  too 
long." 

Here  there  was  a  general  wish  expressed  to  have  the 
manuscript  read,  particularly  on  the  part  of  the  inquisi- 
tive gentleman ;  so  the  worthy  Baronet  drew  out  a  fairly- 
written  manuscript,  and,  wiping  his  spectacles,  read 
aloud  the  following  story.-— 


THE   STOEY  OF  THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN. 


WAS  born  at  Naples.  My  parents,  though  oi 
noble  rank,  were  limited  in  fortune,  or  rather, 
my  father  was  ostentatious  beyond  his  means, 
and  expended  so  much  on  his  palace,  his  equipage,  and 
his  retinue,  that  he  was  continually  straitened  in  his 
pecuniary  circumstances.  I  was  a  younger  son,  and 
looked  upon  with  indifference  by  my  father,  who,  from  a 
principle  of  family-pride,  wished  to  leave  all  his  property 
to  my  elder  brother.  I  showed,  when  quite  a  child,  an 
extreme  sensibility.  Everything  affected  me  violently. 
While  yet  an  infant  in  my  mother's  arms,  and  before  I 
had  learned  to  talk,  I  could  be  wrought  upon  to  a  won- 
derful degree  of  anguish  or  delight  by  the  power  of 
music.  As  I  grew  older,  my  feelings  remained  equally 
acute,  and  I  was  easily  transported  into  paroxysms  of 
pleasure  or  rage.  It  was  the  amusement  of  my  relations 
and  of  the  domestics  to  play  upon  this  irritable  tempera- 
ment. I  was  moved  to  tears,  tickled  to  laughter,  pro- 
voked to  fury,  for  the  entertainment  of  company,  who 
were  amused  by  such  a  tempest  of  mighty  passion  in  a 
pigmy  frame  ;  —  they  little  thought,  or  perhaps  little 
heeded  the  dangerous  sensibilities  they  were  fostering. 

100 


THE  roUNQ  ITALIAN.  101 

I  thus  became  a  little  creature  of  passion  before  reason 
was  developed.  In  a  sliort  time  I  grew  too  old  to  be  a 
plaything,  and  then  I  became  a  torment.  The  tricks  and 
passions  I  had  been  teased  into  became  irksome,  and  I 
was  disliked  by  my  teachers  for  the  very  lessons  they 
had  taught  me.  My  mother  died ;  and  my  power  as  a 
spoiled  child  was  at  an  end.  There  was  no  longer  any 
necessity  to  humor  or  tolerate  me,  for  there  was  nothing 
to  be  gained  by  it,  as  I  was  no  favorite  of  my  father.  I 
therefore  experienced  the  fate  of  a  spoiled  child  in 
such  a  situation,  and  was  neglected,  or  noticed  only  to 
be  crossed  and  contradicted.  Such  was  the  early  treat- 
ment of  a  heart  which,  if  I  can  judge  of  it  at  all,  was 
naturally  disposed  to  the  extremes  of  tenderness  and 
affection. 

My  father,  as  I  have  already  said,  never  liked  me — in 
fact,  he  never  understood  me ;  he  looked  upon  me  as 
wilful  and  wayward,  as  deficient  in  natural  affection.  It 
was  the  stateliness  of  his  own  manner,  the  loftiness  and 
grandeur  of  his  own  look,  which  had  repelled  me  from  his 
arms.  I  always  pictured  him  to  myself  as  I  had  seen 
him,  clad  in  his  senatorial  robes,  rustling  with  pomp  and 
pride.  The  magnificence  of  his  person  daunted  my  young 
imagination.  I  could  never  approach  him  with  the  con- 
fiding affection  of  a  child. 

My  father's  feelings  were  wrapt  up  in  my  elder 
brother.  He  was  to  be  the  inheritor  of  the  family- 
title  and  the   family-dignity,  and  everything  was  sacri- 


102  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLEB. 

ficed  to  him — I,  as  well  as  everything  else.  It  was  de- 
termined to  devote  me  to  the  Church,  that  so  my  humors 
and  myself  might  be  removed  out  of  the  way,  either  of 
tasking  my  father's  time  and  trouble,  or  interfering  with 
the  interests  of  my  brother.  At  an  early  age,  therefore, 
before  my  mind  had  dawned  upon  the  world  and  its  de- 
lights, or  known  anything  of  it  beyond  the  precincts  of 
my  father's  palace,  I  was  sent  to  a  convent,  the  superior 
of  which  was  my  uncle,  and  was  confided  entirely  to  his 
care. 

My  uncle  was  a  man  totally  estranged  from  the  world  : 
he  had  never  relished,  for  he  had  never  tasted  its  pleas- 
ures ;  and  he  regarded  rigid  self-denial  as  the  great  basis 
of  Christian  virtue.  He  considered  every  one's  tempera- 
ment like  his  own ;  or  at  least  he  made  them  conform  to 
it.  His  character  and  habits  had  an  influence  over  the 
fraternity  of  wliich  he  was  superior :  a  more  gloomy, 
saturnine  set  of  beings  were  never  assembled  together. 
The  convent,  too,  was  calculated  to  awaken  sad  and  soli- 
tary thoughts.  It  was  situated  in  a  gloomy  gorge  of 
those  mountains  away  south  of  Vesuvius.  All  distant 
views  were  shut  out  by  sterile  volcanic  heights.  A 
mountain-stream  raved  beneath  its  walls,  and  eagles 
screamed  about  its  turrets. 

I  had  been  sent  to  this  place  at  so  tender  an  age  as 
soon  to  lose  all  distinct  recollection  of  the  scenes  I  had 
left  behind.  As  my  mind  expanded,  therefore,  it  formed 
its  idea  of  the  world  from  the  convent  and  its  vicinity, 


TEE  YOUNG  ITALIAN,  103 

and  a  dreary  world  it  appeared  to  me.  An  eaily  tinge  of 
melancholy  was  thus  infused  into  my  character ;  and  the 
dismal  stories  of  the  monks,  about  devils  and  evil  spirits, 
with  which  they  affrighted  my  young  imagination,  gave 
me  a  tendency  to  superstition  which  I  could  never  ef- 
fectually shake  off.  They  took  the  same  delight  to  work 
upon  my  ardent  feelings,  that  had  been  so  mischievously 
executed  by  my  father's  household.  I  can  recollect  the 
horrors  with  which  they  fed  my  heated  fancy  during  an 
eruption  of  Vesuvius.  We  were  distant  from  that  vol- 
cano, with  mountains  between  us ;  but  its  convulsive 
throes  shook  the  solid  foundations  of  nature.  Earth- 
quakes threatened  to  topple  down  our  convent-towers. 
A  lurid,  baleful  light  hung  in  the  heavens  at  night,  and 
showers  of  ashes,  borne  by  the  wind,  fell  in  our  narrow 
valley.  The  monks  talked  of  the  earth  being  honey- 
combed beneath  us ;  of  streams  of  molten  lava  raging 
through  its  veins ;  of  caverns  of  sulphurous  flames  roar- 
ing in  the  centre,  the  abodes  of  demons  and  the  damned ; 
of  fiery  gulfs  ready  to  yawn  beneath-  our  feet.  All  these 
tales  were  told  to  the  doleful  accompaniment  of  the 
mountain's  thunders,  whose  low  bellowing  made  the  walls 
of  our  convent  vibrate. 

One  of  the  monks  had  been  a  painter,  but  had  retired 
from  the  world,  and  embraced  this  dismal  life  in  expia- 
tion of  some  crime.  He  was  a  melancholy  man,  who  pur- 
sued his  art  in  the  solitude  of  his  cell,  but  made  it  h 
source  of  penance  to  him.     His  employment  was  to  por- 


104  TALES  OF  A   TBA  VELLER. 

tray,  either  on  canvas  or  in  waxen  models,  the  human 
face  and  human  form,  in  the  agonies  of  death,  and  in  all 
the  stages  of  dissolution  and  decay.  The  fearful  mys- 
teries of  the  charnel-house  were  unfolded  in  his  labors ; 
the  loathsome  banquet  of  the  beetle  and  the  worm.  I 
turn  with  shuddering  even  from  the  recollection  of  his 
works ;  yet,  at  the  time,  my  strong  but  ill-directed  imagi- 
nation seized  with  ardor  upon  his  instructions  in  his  art. 
Anything  was  a  variety  from  the  dry  studies  and  monoto- 
nous duties  of  the  cloister.  In  a  little  while  I  became 
expert  with  my  pencil,  and  my  gloomy  productions  were 
thought  worthy  of  decorating  some  of  the  altars  of  the 
chapel. 

In  this  dismal  way  was  a  creature  of  feeling  and  fancy 
brought  up.  Everything  genial  and  amiable  in  my  na- 
ture was  repressed,  and  nothing  brought  out  but  what 
was  unprofitable  and  ungracious.  I  was  ardent  in  my 
temperament ;  quick,  mercurial,  impetuous,  formed  to  be 
a  creature  all  love  and  adoration ;  but  a  leaden  hand  was 
laid  on  all  my  finer  qualities.  I  was  taught  nothing  but 
fear  and  hatred.  I  hated  my  uncle.  I  hated  the  monks. 
I  hated  the  convent  in  which  I  was  immured.  I  hated 
the  world  ;  and  I  almost  hated  myself  for  being,  as  I  sup- 
posed, so  hating  and  hateful  an  animal. 

When  I  had  nearly  attained  the  age  of  sixteen,  I  was 
suffered,  on  one  occasion,  to  accompany  one  of  the  breth- 
ren on  a  mission  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country.  We 
soon  left  behind  us  the  gloomy  vaUey  in  which  I  had 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  105 

been  pent  up  for  so  many  years,  and  after  a  short  journey 
among  the  mountains,  emerged  upon  the  voluptuous 
landscape  that  spreads  itself  about  the  Bay  of  Naples. 
Heavens  !  how  transported  was  I,  when  I  stretched  my 
gaze  over  a  vast  reach  of  delicious  sunny  country,  gay 
with  groves  and  vineyards :  with  Vesuvius  rearing  its 
forked  summit  to  my  right ;  the  blue  Mediterranean  to 
my  left,  with  its  enchanting  coast,  studded  with  shining 
towns  and  sumptuous  villas ;  and  Naples,  my  native 
Naples,  gleaming  far,  far  in  the  distance. 

Good  God !  was  this  the  lovely  world  from  which  I  had 
been  excluded !  I  had  reached  that  age  when  the  sensi- 
bilities are  in  all  their  bloom  and  freshness.  Mine  had 
been  checked  and  chilled.  They  now  burst  forth  with 
the  suddenness  of  a  retarded  spring-time.  My  heart, 
hitherto  unnaturally  shrunk  up,  expanded  into  a  riot  of 
vague  but  delicious  emotions.  The  beauty  of  nature  in- 
toxicated— bewildered  me.  The  song  of  the  peasants ; 
their  cheerful  looks  ;  their  happy  avocations ;  the  pic- 
turesque gayety  of  their  dresses ;  their  rustic  music ; 
their  dances;  all  broke  upon  me  like  witchcraft.  My 
soul  responded  to  the  music,  my  heart  danced  in  my 
bosom.  All  the  men  appeared  amiable,  all  the  women 
lovely. 

I  returned  to  the  convent ;  that  is  to  say,  my  body  re- 
turned, but  my  heart  and  soul  never  entered  there  again. 
I  could  not  forget  this  glimpse  of  a  beautiful  and  a  happy 
world — a  world  so  suited  to  my  natural  character.    I  had 


106  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

felt  so  happy  while  in  it ;  so  different  a  being  from  what 
I  felt  myself  when  in  the  convent — that  tomb  of  the  living. 
I  contrasted  the  countenances  of  the  beings  I  had  seen, 
full  of  fire  and  freshness  and  enjoyment,  with  the  pallid, 
leaden,  lack-lustre  visages  of  the  monks  :  the  dance  with 
the  droning  chant  of  the  chapel.  I  had  before  found  the 
exercises  of  the  cloister  wearisome,  they  now  became 
intolerable.  The  dull  round  of  duties  wore  away  my 
spirit ;  my  nerves  became  irritated  by  the  fretful  tinkling 
of  the  convent-bell,  evermore  dinging  among  the  moun- 
tain-echoes, evermore  calling  me  from  my  repose  at 
night,  my  pencil  by  day,  to  attend  to  some  tedious  and 
mechanical  ceremony  of  devotion. 

I  was  not  of  a  nature  to  meditate  long  without  putting 
my  thoughts  into  action.  My  spirit  had  been  suddenly 
aroused,  and  was  now  all  awake  within  me.  I  watched 
an  opportunity,  fled  from  the  convent,  and  made  my  way 
on  foot  to  Naples.  As  I  entered  its  gay  and  crowded 
streets,  and  beheld  the  variety  and  stir  of  life  around  me, 
the  luxury  of  palaces,  the  splendor  of  equipages,  and  the 
pantomimic  animation  of  the  motley  populace,  I  seemed 
as  if  awakened  to  a  world  of  enchantment,  and  solemnly 
vowed  that  nothing  should  force  me  back  to  the  mo- 
notony of  the  cloister. 

I  had  to  inquire  my  way  to  my  father's  palace,  for  I 
had  been  so  young  on  leaving  it  that  I  knew  not  its  situ- 
ation. I  found  some  difficulty  in  getting  admitted  to  my 
father's  presence ;  for  the  domestics  scarcely  knew  thai 


THE  YOUNO  ITALIAN.  107 

there  was  sucli  a  being  as  myself  in  existence,  and  my 
monastic  dress  did  not  operate  in  my  favor.  Even  my 
father  entertained  no  recollection  of  my  person.  I  told 
him  my  name,  threw  myself  at  his  feet,  implored  his  for* 
giveness,  and  entreated  that  I  might  not  be  sent  back  to 
the  convent. 

He  received  me  with  the  condescension  of  a  patron, 
rather  than  the  fondness  of  a  parent ;  listened  patiently, 
but  coldly,  to  my  tale  of  monastic  grievances  and  dis- 
gusts, and  promised  to  think  what  else  could  be  done  for 
me.  This  coldness  blighted  and  drove  back  all  the  frank 
affection  of  my  nature,  that  was  ready  to  spring  forth  at 
the  least  v/armth  of  parental  kindness.  All  my  early  feel- 
ings towards  my  father  revived.  I  again  looked  up  to 
him  as  the  stately  magnificent  being  that  had  daunted 
my  childish  imagination,  and  felt  as  if  I  had  no  preten- 
sions to  his  sympathies.  My  brother  engrossed  all  his 
care  and  love ;  he  inherited  his  nature,  and  carried  him- 
self towards  me  with  a  protecting  rather  than  a  fraternal 
air.  It  wounded  my  pride,  which  was  great.  I  could 
brook  condescension  from  my  father,  for  I  looked  up  to 
him  with  awe,  as  a  superior  being ;  but  I  could  not  brook 
patronage  from  a  brother,  who  I  felt  was  intellectually 
my  inferior.  The  servants  perceived  that  I  was  an  un- 
welcome intruder  in  the  paternal  mansion,  and,  menial- 
like, they  treated  me  with  neglect.  Thus  baffled  at  every 
point,  my  affections  outraged  wherever  they  would  attach 
themselves,  I  became  sullen,  silent,  and  desponding.     My 


108  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

feelings,  driven  back  upon  myself,  entered  and  preyed 
upon  my  own  heart.  I  remained  for  some  days  an  un- 
welcome guest  rather  than  a  restored  son  in  my  father's 
house.  I  was  doomed  never  to  be  properly  known  there. 
I  was  made,  by  wrong  treatment,  strange  even  to  myself, 
and  they  judged  of  me  from  my  strangeness. 

I  was  startled  one  day  at  the  sight  of  one  of  the  monks 
of  my  convent  gliding  out  of  my  father's  room.  He  saw 
me,  but  pretended  not  to  notice  me,  and  this  very  hypoc- 
risy made  me  suspect  something.  I  had  become  sore 
and  susceptible  in  my  feelings,  everything  inflicted  a 
wound  on  them.  In  this  state  of  mind,  I  was  treated 
with  marked  disrespect  by  a  pampered  minion,  the 
favorite  servant  of  my  father.  All  the  pride  and  passion 
of  my  nature  rose  in  an  instant,  and  I  struck  him  to  the 
earth.  My  father  was  passing  by ;  he  stopped  not  to  in- 
quire the  reason,  nor  indeed  could  he  read  the  long 
course  of  mental  sufferings  which  were  the  real  cause. 
He  rebuked  me  with  anger  and  scorn;  summoning  all 
the  haughtiness  of  his  nature  and  grandeur  of  his  look  to 
give  weight  to  the  contumely  with  whiijh  he  treated  me. 
I  felt  that  I  had  not  deserved  it.  I  felt  that  I  was  not 
appreciated.  I  felt  that  I  had  that  within  me  which 
merited  better  treatment.  My  heart  swelled  against  a 
father's  injustice.  I  broke  through  my  habitual  awe  of 
him — I  replied  to  him  with  impatience.  My  hot  spirit 
flushed  in  my  cheek  and  kindled  in  my  eye  ;  but  my  sen- 
sitive heart  swelled  as  quickly  and  before  I  had  half 


TEE  YOUNO  ITALIAN.  109 

vented  my  passion,  I  felt  it  suffocated  and  quenclied  in 
my  tears.  My  father  was  astonished  and  incensed  at 
this  turning  of  the  worm,  and  ordered  me  to  my  cham- 
ber. I  retired  in  silence,  choking  with  contending 
emotions. 

I  had  not  been  long  there  when  I  overheard  voices  in 
an  adjoining  apartment.  It  was  a  consultation  between 
my  father  and  the  monk,  about  the  means  of  getting  me 
back  quietly  to  the  convent.  My  resolution  was  taken. 
I  had  no  longer  a  home  nor  a  father.  That  very  night  I 
left  the  paternal  roof.  I  got  on  board  a  vessel  about 
making  sail  from  the  harbor,  and  abandoned  myself  to 
the  wide  world.  No  matter  to  what  port  she  steered ; 
any  part  of  so  beautiful  a  world  was  better  than  my  con- 
vent. No  matter  where  I  was  cast  by  fortune  ;  any  place 
would  be  more  a  home  to  me  than  the  home  I  had  left 
behind.  The  vessel  was  bound  to  Genoa.  We  arrived 
there  after  a  voyage  of  a  few  days. 

As  I  entered  the  harbor  between  the  moles  which  em- 
brace it,  and  beheld  the  amphitheatre  of  palaces,  and 
churches,  and  splendid  gardens,  rising  one  above  an- 
other, I  felt  at  once  its  title  to  the  appellation  of  Genoa 
the  Superb.  I  landed  on  the  mole  an  utter  stranger, 
without  knowing  what  to  do,  or  whither  to  direct  my 
steps.  No  matter  :  I  was  released  from  the  thraldom  of 
the  convent  and  the  humiliations  of  home.  "When  I  trav- 
ersed the  Strada  Balbi  and  the  Strada  Nuova,  those 
streets  of  palaces,  and  gazed  at  the  wonders  of  architec- 


110  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLER 

ture  around  me ;  when  I  wandered  at  close  of  day  amid 
a  gay  throng  of  the  brilliant  and  the  beautiful,  through 
the  green  alleys  of  the  Aqua  Verde,  or  among  the  colon' 
nades  and  terraces  of  the  magnificent  Doria  gardens; 
I  thought  it  impossible  to  be  ever  otherwise  than  happy 
in  Genoa.  A  few  days  sufficed  to  show  me  my  mistake. 
My  scanty  purse  was  exhausted,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  experienced  the  sordid  distress  of  penury.  I 
had  never  known  the  want  of  money,  and  had  never  ad- 
verted to  the  possibility  of  such  an  evil.  I  was  ignorant 
of  the  world  and  all  its  ways  ;  and  when  first  the  idea  of 
destitution  came  over  my  mind,  its  effect  was  withering. 
I  was  wandering  penniless  through  the  streets  which  no 
longer  delighted  my  eyes,  when  chance  led  my  steps  into 
the  magnificent  church  of  the  Annunciata. 

A  celebrated  painter  of  the  day  was  at  that  moment 
superintending  the  placing  of  one  of  his  pictures  over  an 
altar.  The  proficiency  which  I  had  acquired  in  his  art 
during  my  residence  in  the  convent,  had  made  me  an  en- 
thusiastic amateur.  I  was  struck,  at  the  first  glance,  with 
the  painting.  It  was  the  face  of  a  Madonna.  So  inno- 
cent, so  lovely,  such  a  divine  expression  of  maternal  ten- 
derness !  I  lost,  for  the  moment,  all  recollection  of  myself 
in  the  enthusiasm  of  my  art.  I  clasped  my  hands  to- 
gether, and  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  delight.  The  painter 
perceived  my  emotion.  He  was  flattered  and  gratified  by 
it.  My  air  and  manner  pleased  him,  and  he  accosted 
me,     I  felt  too  much  the  want  of  friendship  to  repel  the 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  l\\ 

advances  of  a  stranger ;  and  there  was  some  thing  in  this 
one  so  benevolent  and  winning,  that  in  a  moment  he 
g  ,ined  my  confidence. 

I  told  him  my  story  and  my  situation,  concealing  only 
my  name  and  rank.  He  appeared  strongly  interested  by 
my  recital,  invited  me  to  his  house,  and  from  that  time  I 
became  his  favorite  pupil.  He  thought  he  perceived  in 
me  extraordinary  talents  for  the  art,  and  his  encomiums 
awakened  all  my  ardor.  What  a  blissful  period  of  my 
existence  was  it  that  I  passed  beneath  his  roof !  Another 
being  seemed  created  within  me ;  or  rather,  all  that  was 
amiable  and  excellent  was  drawn  out.  I  was  as  recluse 
as  ever  I  had  been  at  the  convent,  but  how  different  was 
my  seclusion!  My  time  was  spent  in  storing  my  mind 
with  lofty  and  poetical  ideas ;  in  meditating  on  all  that 
was  striking  and  noble  in  history  and  fiction ;  in  studying 
and  tracing  all  that  was  sublime  and  beautiful  in  nature. 
I  was  always  a  visionary,  imaginative  being,  but  now  my 
reveries  and  imaginings  all  elevated  me  to  rapture.  I 
looked  up  to  my  master  as  to  a  benevolent  genius  that 
had  opened  to  me  a  region  of  enchantment.  He  was  not 
a  native  of  Genoa,  but  had  been  drawn  thither  by  the 
solicitations  of  several  of  the  nobility,  and  had  resided 
there  but  a  few  years,  for  the  completion  of  certain 
works.  His  health  v/as  delicate,  and  he  had  to  confide 
much  of  the  filling  up  of  his  designs  to  the  pencils  of  his 
scholars.  He  considered  me  as  particularly  happy  in 
delineating  the  human  countenance ;    in  seizing    upon 


112  TALE8  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

characteristic  thougli  fleeting  expressions,  and  fixing 
them  powerfully  upon  my  canvas.  I  was  employed  con- 
tinually, therefore,  in  sketching  faces,  and  often,  when 
some  particular  grace  or  beauty  of  expression  was  wanted 
in  a  countenance,  it  was  intrusted  to  my  pencil.  My 
benefactor  was  fond  of  bringing  me  forward ;  and  partly, 
perhaps,  through  my  actual  skill,  and  partly  through  his 
partial  praises,  I  began  to  be  noted  for  the  expressions  of 
my  countenances. 

Among  the  various  works  which  he  had  undertaken, 
was  an  historical  piece  for  one  of  the  palaces  of  Genoa, 
in  which  were  to  be  introduced  the  likenesses  of  several 
of  the  family.  Among  these  was  one  intrusted  to  my 
pencil.  It  was  that  of  a  young  girl,  as  yet  in  a  convent 
for  her  education.  She  came  out  for  the  purpose  of  sit- 
ting for  the  picture.  I  first  saw  her  in  an  apartment  of 
one  of  the  sumptuous  palaces  of  Genoa.  She  stood  be- 
fore a  casement  that  looked  out  upon  the  bay ;  a  stream 
of  vernal  sunshine  fell  upon  her,  and  shed  a  kind  of  glory 
round  her,  as  it  lit  up  the  rich  crimson  chamber.  She 
was  but  sixteen  years  of  age — and  oh,  how  lovely !  The 
scene  broke  upon  me  like  a  mere  vision  of  spring  and 
youth  and  beauty.  I  could  have  fallen  down  and  wor- 
shipped her.  She  was  like  one  of  those  fictions  of  poets 
and  painters,  when  they  would  express  the  heau  ideal  that 
haunts  their  minds  with  shapes  of  indescribable  perfec- 
tion. I  was  permitted  to  watch  her  countenance  in  vari- 
ous positions,  and  I  fondly  protracted  the  study  that  was 


TEE  TOTTWG  ITALIAN.  113 

undoing  me.  The  more  I  gazed  on  her,  the  more  I  be- 
came enamoured ;  there  was  something  almost  painful  in 
my  intense  admiration.  I  was  but  nineteen  years  of  age, 
shy,  diffident,  and  inexperienced.  I  was  treated  with 
attention  by  her  mother ;  for  my  youth  and  my  enthu- 
siasm in  my  art  had  won  favor  for  me ;  and  I  am  inclined 
to  think  something  in  my  air  and  manner  inspired  inter- 
est and  respect.  Still  the  kindness  with  which  I  was 
treated  could  not  dispel  the  embarrassment  into  which 
my  own  imagination  threw  me  when  in  presence  of  this 
lovely  being.  It  elevated  her  into  something  almost 
more  than  mortal.  She  seemed  too  exquisite  for  earthly 
use ;  too  delicate  and  exalted  for  human  attainment.  As 
I  sat  tracing  her  charms  on  my  canvas,  with  my  eyes 
occasionally  riveted  on  her  features,  I  drank  in  deli- 
cious poison  that  made  me  giddy.  My  heart  alternately 
gushed  with  tenderness,  and  ached  with  despair.  Now 
I  became  more  than  ever  sensible  of  the  violent  fires 
that  had  lain  dormant  at  the  bottom  of  my  soul.  You 
who  were  born  in  a  more  temperate  climate,  and  under  a 
cooler  sky,  have  little  idea  of  the  violence  of  passion  in 
our  southern  bosoms. 

A  few  days  finished  my  task.  Bianca  returned  to  her 
convent,  but  her  image  remained  indelibly  impressed 
upon  my  heart.  It  dwelt  in  my  imagination ;  it  became 
my  pervading  idea  of  beauty.  It  had  an  effect  even  upon 
my  pencil  I  became  noted  for  my  felicity  in  depicting 
female  loveliness:  it  was  but  because  I  multiplied  the 


114  TALES  OF  A  TRAYBLLEIt. 

image  of  Bianca,  I  sootlied  and  yet  fed  my  fancy  by 
introducing  her  in  all  the  productions  of  my  master,  1 
have  stood,  with  delight,  in  one  of  the  chapels  of  the 
Annunciata,  and  heard  the  crowd  extol  the  seraphic 
beauty  of  a  saint  which  I  had  painted.  I  have  seen  them 
bow  down  in  adoration  before  the  painting;  they  were 
bowing  before  the  loveliness  of  Bianca. 

I  existed  in  this  kind  of  dream,  I  might  almost  say 
delirium,  for  upwards  of  a  year.  Such  is  the  tenacity  of 
my  imagination,  that  the  image  formed  in  it  continued  in 
all  its  power  and  freshness.  Indeed,  I  was  a  solitary, 
meditative  being,  much  given  to  reverie,  and  apt  to  foster 
ideas  w^hich  had  once  taken  strong  possession  of  me.  I 
was  roused  from  this  fond,  melancholy,  delicious  dream 
by  the  death  of  my  worthy  benefactor.  I  cannot  de- 
scribe the  pangs  his  death  occasioned  me.  It  left  me 
alone,  and  almost  broken-hearted.  He  bequeathed  to 
me  his  little  property,  which,  from  the  liberality  of  his 
disposition,  and  his  expensive  style  of  living,  was  indeed 
but  small;  and  he  most  particularly  recommended  me, 
in  dying,  to  the  protection  of  a  nobleman  who  had  been 
his  patron. 

The  latter  was  a  man  who  passed  for  munificent.  He 
was  a  lover  and  an  encourager  of  the  arts,  and  evidently 
wished  to  be  thought  so.  He  fancied  he  saw  in  me  indi- 
cations of  future  excellence  ;  my  pencil  had  already  at- 
tracted attention ;  he  took  me  at  once  under  his  protec- 
tion.    Seeing  that  I  was  overwhelmed  with  grief,  and 


THE  YOriJSfO  ITALIAN.  115 

incapable  of  exerting  myself  in  tlie  mansion  of  my  late 
benefactor,  lie  invited  me  to  sojourn  for  a  time  at  a  villa 
which  he  possessed  on  the  border  of  the  sea,  in  the  pic- 
turesque neighborhood  of  Sestri  di  Ponente. 

I  found  at  the  villa  the  count's  only  son,  Filippo.  He 
was  nearly  of  my  age ;  prepossessing  in  his  a,j)pearance, 
and  fascinating  in  his  manners,  he  attached  himself  to 
me,  and  seemed  to  court  my  good  opinion.  I  thought 
there  was  something  of  profession  in  his  kindness,  and  of 
caprice  in  his  disposition ;  but  I  had  nothing  else  near 
me  to  attach  myself  to,  and  my  heart  felt  the  need  of 
something  to  repose  upon.  His  education  had  been 
neglected ;  he  looked  upon  me  as  his  superior  in  mental 
powers  and  acquirements,  and  tacitly  acknowledged  my 
superiority.  I  felt  that  I  was  his  equal  in  birth,  and 
that  gave  independence  to  my  manners,  which  had  its 
effect.  The  caprice  and  tyranny  I  saw  sometimes  exer- 
cised on  others,  over  whom  he  had  power,  were  never 
manifested  towards  me.  We  became  intimate  friends  and 
frequent  companions.  Still  I  loved  to  be  alone,  and  to 
indulge  in  the  reveries  of  my  own  imagination  among  the 
scenery  by  which  I  was  surrounded.  The  villa  com- 
manded a  wide  view  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  of  the 
picturesque  Ligurian  coast.  It  stood  alone  in  the  midst 
of  ornamented  grounds,  finely  decorated  with  statues  and 
fountains,  and  laid  out  in  groves  and  alleys  and  shady 
lawns.  Everything  was  assembled  here  that  could  gratify 
the  taste,  or  agreeably  occupy  the  mind.     Soothed  by  the 


116  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

tranquillity  of  this  elegant  retreat,  the  turbulence  of  my 
feelings  gradually  subsided,  and  blending  with  the  ro- 
mantic spell  which  still  reigned  over  my  imagination, 
produced  a  soft,  voluptuous  melancholy. 

I  had  not  been  long  under  the  roof  of  the  count,  when 
our  solitude  was  enlivened  by  another  inhabitant.  It  was 
a  daughter  of  a  relative  of  the  count,  who  had  lately  died 
in  reduced  circumstances,  bequeathing  this  only  child  to 
his  protection.  I  had  heard  much  of  her  beauty  from 
Filippo,  but  my  fancy  had  become  so  engrossed  by  one 
idea  of  beauty,  as  not  to  admit  of  any  other.  We  were  in 
the  central  saloon  of  the  villa  when  she  arrived.  She  was 
still  in  mourning,  and  approached,  leaning  on  the  count's 
arm.  As  they  ascended  the  marble  portico,  I  was  struck 
by  the  elegance  of  her  figure  and  movement,  by  the  grace 
with  which  the  mezzaro,  the  bewitching  veil  of  Genoa,  was 
folded  about  her  slender  form.  They  entered.  Heav- 
ens !  what  was  my  surprise  when  I  beheld  Bianca  be- 
fore me !  It  was  herself ;  pale  with  grief,  but  still  more 
matured  in  loveliness  than  when  I  had  last  beheld  her. 
The  time  that  had  elapsed  had  developed  the  graces 
of  her  person,  and  the  sorrow  she  had  undergone  had 
diffused  over  her  countenance  an  irresistible  tenderness. 

She  blushed  and  trembled  at  seeing  me,  and  tears 
rushed  into  her  eyes,  for  she  remembered  in  whose 
company  she  had  been  accustomed  to  behold  me.  For 
my  part,  I  cannot  express  what  were  my  emotions.  By 
degrees  I  overcame  the  extreme  shyness  that  had  for- 


TEE   YOUNG  ITALIAN.  117 

merly  paralyzed  me  in  her  presence.  We  were  drawn 
together  by  sympathy  of  situation.  We  had  each  lost  our 
best  friend  in  the  world ;  we  were  each,  in  some  meas- 
ure, thrown  upon  the  kindness  of  others.  When  I  came 
to  know  her  intellectually,  all  my  ideal  picturings  of  her 
were  confirmed.  Her  newness  to  the  world,  her  delight- 
ful susceptibility  to  everything  beautiful  and  agreeable 
in  nature,  reminded  me  of  my  own  emotions  when  first  I 
escaped  from  the  convent.  Her  rectitude  of  thinking 
delighted  my  judgment;  the  sweetness  of  her  nature 
wrapped  itself  round  my  heart ;  and  then  her  young,  and 
tender,  and  budding  loveliness,  sent  a  delicious  madness 
to  my  brain. 

I  gazed  upon  her  with  a  kind  of  idolatry,  as  something 
more  than  mortal ;  and  I  felt  humiliated  at  the  idea  of 
my  comparative  un worthiness.  Yet  she  was  mortal ;  and 
one  of  mortality's  most  susceptible  and  loving  com- 
pounds ; — for  she  loved  me  ! 

How  first  I  discovered  the  transporting  truth  I  cannot 
recollect.  I  believe  it  stole  upon. me  by  degrees  as  a 
wonder  past  hope  or  belief.  We  were  both  at  such  a 
tender  and  loving  age  ;  in  constant  intercourse  with  each 
other ;  mingling  in  the  same  elegant  pursuits,  —  for 
music,  poetry,  and  painting  were  our  mutual  delights; 
and  we  were  almost  separated  from  society  among  lovely 
and  romantic  scenery.  Is  it  strange  that  two  young 
hearts,  thus  brought  together,  should  readily  twine 
round  each  other? 


118  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLJEB. 

Oil,  gods !  what  a  dream — a  transient  dream  of  unal- 
loyed delight,  then  passed  over  my  soul!  Then  it  was 
that  the  world  around  me  was  indeed  a  paradise  ;  for  I 
had  woman — lovely,  delicious  woman,  to  share  it  with 
me  !  How  often  have  I  rambled  along  the  picturesque 
shores  of  Sestri,  or  climbed  its  wild  mountains,  with  the 
coast  gemmed  with  villas,  and  the  blue  sea  far  below  me, 
and  the  slender  Faro  of  Genoa  on  its  romantic  promon- 
tory in  the  distance ;  and  as  I  sustained  the  faltering 
steps  of  Bianca,  have  thought  there  could  no  unhappi- 
ness  enter  into  so  beautiful  a  world!  How  often  have 
we  listened  together  to  the  nightingale,  as  it  poured  forth 
its  rich  notes  among  the  moonlight  bowers  of  the  garden, 
and  have  wondered  that  poets  could  ever  have  fancied 
anything  melancholy  in  its  song !  Why,  oh  why  is  this 
budding  season  of  life  and  tenderness  so  transient !  why 
is  this  rosy  cloud  of  love,  that  sheds  such  a  glow  over  the 
morning  of  our  days,  so  prone  to  brew  up  into  the  whirl- 
wind and  the  storm  I 

I  was  the  first  to  awaken  ^om  this  blissful  delirium  of 
the  affections.  I  had  gained  Bianca's  heart,  what  was 
I  to  do  with  it  ?  I  had  no  wealth  nor  prospect  to  entitle 
me  to  her  hand ;  was  I  to  take  advantage  of  her  igno- 
rance of  the  world,  of  her  confiding  affection,  and  draw 
her  down  to  my  own  poverty  ?  Was  this  requiting  the 
hospitality  of  the  count?  was  this  requiting  the  love  of 
Bianca  ? 

Now  first  I  began  to  feel  that  even  successful  love  may 


THE  TOUNG  ITALIAN.  119 

have  its  bitterness.  A  corroding  care  gathered  about 
my  heart.  I  moved  about  the  palace  like  a  guilty  being. 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  abused  its  hospitality,  as  if  I  were  a 
thief  within  its  walls.  I  could  no  longer  look  with  un- 
embarrassed mien  in  the  countenance  of  the  count.  I 
accused  myself  of  perfidy  to  him,  and  I  thought  he  read 
it  in  my  looks,  and  began  to  distrust  and  despise  me. 
His  manner  had  always  been  ostentatious  and  conde- 
scending ;  it  now  appeared  cold  and  haughty.  Filippo, 
too,  became  reserved  and  distant ;  or  at  least  I  suspected 
him  to  be  so.  Heavens !  was  this  the  mere  coinage  of 
my  brain  ?  Was  I  to  become  suspicious  of  all  the  world  ? 
a  poor,  surmising  wretch ;  watching  looks  and  gestures  ; 
and  torturing  myself  with  misconstructions  ?  Or,  if  true. 
Was  I  to  remain  beneath  a  roof  where  I  was  merely  toler- 
ated, and  linger  there  on  sufferance  ?  "  This  is  not  to  be 
endured ! "  exclaimed  I :  "  I  will  tear  myself  from  this 
state  of  self-abasement — I  will  break  through  this 
fascination  and  fly — Fly! — ^Whither?  from  the  world? 
for  where  is  the  world  when  I  leave  Bianca  behind 
me  ?  " 

My  spirit  was  naturally  proud,  and  swelled  within  me 
at  the  idea  of  being  looked  upon  with  contumely.  Many 
times  I  was  on  the  point  of  declaring  my  family  and 
rank,  and  asserting  my  equality  in  the  presence  of 
Bianca,  when  I  thought  her  relations  assumed  an  air  of 
superiority.  But  the  feeling  was  transient.  I  consid- 
ered myself  discarded  and  condemned  by  my  family ; 


120  TALE8  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

and  had  solemnly  vowed  never  to  own  relationship  to 
them  until  they  themselves  should  claim  it. 

The  struggle  of  my  mind  preyed  upon  my  happiness 
and  my  health.  It  seemed  as  if  the  uncertainty  of  being 
loved  would  be  less  intolerable  than  thus  to  be  assured 
of  it,  and  yet  not  dare  to  enjoy  the  conviction.  I  was  no 
longer  the  enraptured  admirer  of  Bianca;  I  no  longer 
hung  in  ecstasy  on  the  tones  of  her  voice,  nor  drank  in 
with  insatiate  gaze  the  beauty  of  her  countenance.  Her 
very  smiles  ceased  to  delight  me,  for  I  felt  culpable  in 
having  won  them. 

She  could  not  but  be  sensible  of  the  change  in  me,  and 
inquired  the  cause  with  her  usual  frankness  and  sim- 
plicity. I  could  not  evade  the  inquiry,  for  my  heart  was 
full  to  aching.  I  told  her  all  the  conflict  of  my  soul ;  my 
devouring  passion,  my  bitter  self-upbraiding.  "Yes," 
said  I,  "  I  am  unworthy  of  you.  I  am  an  oiTcast  from 
my  family — a  wanderer — a  nameless,  homeless  wanderer 
— with  nothing  but  poverty  for  my  portion ;  and  yet  I 
have  dared  to  love  you — have  dared  to  aspire  to  your 
love." 

My  agitation  moved  her  to  tears,  but  she  saw  noth- 
ing in  my  situation  so  hopeless  as  I  had  depicted  it. 
Brought  up  in  a  convent,  she  knew  nothing  of  the  world 
— its  wants — its  cares :  and  indeed  what  woman  is  a 
worldly  casuist  in  the  matters  of  the  heart  ?  Nay,  more, 
she  kindled  into  sweet  enthusiasm  when  she  spoke  of  my 
fortunes  and  myself.     We   had  dwelt  together  on  the 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  121 

works  of  tlie  famous  masters.  I  related  to  her  their  his- 
tories ;  the  high  reputation,  the  influence,  the  magnifi- 
cence to  which  they  had  attained.  The  companions  of 
princes,  the  favorites  of  kings,  the  pride  and  boast  of  na- 
tions. All  this  she  applied  to  me.  Her  love  saw  nothing 
in  all  their  great  productions  that  I  was  not  able  to 
achieve  ;  and  when  I  beheld  the  lovely  creature  glow  with 
fervor,  and  her  whole  countenance  radiant  with  visions 
of  my  glory,  I  was  snatched  up  for  the  moment  into  the 
heaven  of  her  own  imagination. 

I  am  dwelling  too  long  upon  this  part  of  my  story  ;  yet 
I  cannot  help  lingering  over  a  period  of  my  life  on  which, 
with  all  its  cares  and  conflicts,  I  look  back  with  fondness, 
for  as  yet  my  soul  was  unstained  by  a  crime.  I  do  not 
know  what  might  have  been  the  result  of  this  struggle 
between  pride,  delicacy,  and  passion,  had  I  not  read  in  a 
Neapolitan  gazette  an  account  of  the  sudden  death  of  my 
brother.  It  was  accompanied  by  an  earnest  inquiry  for 
intelligence  concerning  me,  and  a  prayer,  should  this 
meet  my  eye,  that  I  would  hasten  to  Naples  to  comfort 
an  infirm  and  afflicted  father. 

I  was  naturally  of  an  affectionate  disposition,  but  my 
brother  had  never  been  as  a  brother  to  me.  I  had  long 
considered  myself  as  disconnected  from  him,  and  his 
death  caused  me  but  little  emotion.  The  thoughts  of  my 
father,  infirm  and  suffering,  touched  me,  however,  to  the 
quick ;  and  when  I  thought  of  him,  that  lofty,  magnificent 
being,  now  bowed  down  and  desolate,  and  suing  to  me  for 


122  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

comfort,  all  my  resentment  for  past  neglect  was  subdued, 
and  a  glow  of  filial  affection  was  awakened  within  me. 

The  predominant  feeling,  however,  that  overpowered 
all  others,  was  transport  at  the  sudden  change  in  my 
whole  fortunes.  A  home,  a  name,  rank,  wealth,  awaited 
me ;  and  love  painted  a  still  more  rapturous  prospect  in 
the  distance.  I  hastened  to  Bianca,  and  threw  myself  at 
her  feet.  "  Oh,  Bianca !  "  exclaimed  I,  "  at  length  I  can 
claim  you  for  my  own.  I  am  no  longer  a  nameless  ad- 
venturer, a  neglected,  rejected  outcast.  Look — read — ^be- 
hold the  tidings  that  restore  me  to  my  name  and  to  my- 
self!" 

1  will  not  dwell  on  the  scene  that  ensued.  Bianca  re- 
joiced in  the  reverse  of  my  situation,  because  she  saw  it 
lightened  my  heart  of  a  load  of  care ;  for  her  own  part, 
she  had  loved  me  for  myself,  and  had  never  doubted  that 
my  own  merits  would  command  both  fame  and  fortune. 

I  now  felt  all  my  native  pride  buoyant  within  me.  I 
no  longer  walked  with  my  eyes  bent  to  the  dust ;  hope 
elevated  them  to  the  skies — my  soul  was  lit  up  with  fresh 
fires,  and  beamed  from  my  countenance. 

I  wished  to  impart  the  change  in  my  circumstances  to 
the  count ;  to  let  him  know  w^ho  and  what  I  was — and  to 
make  formal  proposals  for  the  hand  of  Bianca ;  but  he 
was  absent  on  a  distant  estate.  I  opened  my  whole  soul 
to  Filippo.  Now  first  I  told  him  of  my  passion,  of  the 
doubts  and  fears  that  had  distracted  me,  and  of  the 
tidings   that  had   suddenly   dispelled  them.     He   over- 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  123 

whelmed  me  with  congratulations,  and  with  the  warmest 
expressions  of  sympathy ;  I  embraced  him  in  the  fulness 
of  my  heart ; — I  felt  compunctions  for  having  suspected 
him  of  coldness,  and  asked  his  forgiveness  for  ever  hav- 
ing doubted  his  friendship. 

Nothing  is  so  warm  and  enthusiastic  as  a  sudden 
expansion  of  the  heart  between  young  men.  Filippo  en- 
tered into  our  concerns  with  the  most  eager  interest.  He 
was  our  confidant  and  counsellor.  It  was  determined 
that  I  should  hasten  at  once  to  Naples,  to  reestablish 
myself  in  my  father's  affections,  and  my  paternal  home ; 
and  the  moment  the  reconciliation  was  effected,  and  my 
father's  consent  insured,  I  should  return  and  demand 
Bianca  of  the  count.  Filippo  engaged  to  secure  his 
father's  acquiescence ;  indeed  he  undertook  to  watch  over 
our  interest,  and  to  be  the  channel  through  which  we 
might  correspond. 

My  parting  with  Bianca  was  tender — delicious — agoniz- 
ing. It  was  in  a  little  pavilion  of  the  garden  which  had 
been  one  of  our  favorite  resorts.  How  often  and  often 
did  I  return  to  have  one  more  adieu,  to  have  her  look 
once  more  on  me  in  speechless  emotion ;  to  enjoy  once 
more  the  rapturous  sight  of  those  tears  streaming  down 
her  lovely  cheeks ;  to  seize  once  more  on  that  delicate 
hand,  the  frankly  accorded  pledge  of  love,  and  cover  it 
with  tears  and  kisses  ?  Heavens !  there  is  a  delight  even 
in  the  parting  agony  of  two  lovers,  worth  a  thousand 
tame  pleasures  of  the  world.     I  have  her  at  this  moment 


124  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

before  my  eyes,  at  the  window  of  tlie  pavilion,  putting 
aside  the  vines  which  clustered  about  the  casement,  hei 
form  beaming  forth  in  virgin  light,  her  countenance  all 
tears  and  smiles,  sending  a  thousand  and  a  thousand 
adieus  after  me,  as  hesitating,  in  a  delirium  of  fondness 
and  agitation,  I  faltered  my  way  down  the  avenue. 

As  the  bark  bore  me  out  of  the  harbor  of  Genoa,  how 
eagerly  my  eye  stretched  along  the  coast  of  Sestri  till  it 
discovered  the  villa  gleaming  from  among  the  trees  at 
the  foot  of  the  mountain.  As  long  as  day  lasted  I  gazed 
and  gazed  upon  it,  till  it  lessened  and  lessened  to  a  mere 
white  speck  in  the  distance ;  and  still  my  intense  and 
fixed  gaze  discerned  it,  when  all  other  objects  of  the 
coast  had  blended  into  indistinct  confusion,  or  were  lost 
in  the  evening  gloom. 

On  arriving  at  Naples,  I  hastened  to  my  paternal  home. 
My  heart  yearned  for  the  long-withheld  blessing  of  a 
father's  love.  As  I  entered  the  proud  portal  of  the  an- 
cestral palace,  my  emotions  were  so  great  that  I  could 
not  speak.  No  one  knew  me,  the  servants  gazed  at  me 
with  curiosity  and  surprise.  A  few  years  of  intellectual 
elevation  and  development  had  made  a  prodigious  change 
in  the  poor  fugitive  stripling  from  the  convent.  Still, 
that  no  one  should  know  me  in  my  rightful  home  was 
overpowering.  I  felt  like  the  prodigal  son  returned.  I 
was  a  stranger  in  the  house  of  my  father.  I  burst  into 
tears  and  wept  aloud.  When  I  made  myself  known,  how- 
ever, all  was  changed.    I,  who  had  once  been  almost  re- 


THE  YOUNQ  ITALIAN.  126 

pulsed  from  its  walls,  and  forced  to  fly  as  an  exile,  was 
welcomed 'back  with  acclamation,  with  servility.  One  of 
the  servants  hastened  to  prepare  my  father  for  my  le- 
ception ;  my  eagerness  to  receive  the  paternal  embrace 
was  so  great  that  I  could  not  await  his  return,  but 
hurried  after  him.  What  a  spectacle  met  my  eyes  as  I 
entered  the  chamber !  My  father,  whom  I  had  left  in  the 
pride  of  vigorous  age,  whose  noble  and  majestic  bearing 
had  so  awed  my  young  imagination,  was  bowed  down  and 
withered  into  decrepitude.  A  paralysis  had  ravaged  his 
stately  form,  and  left  it  a  shaking  ruin.  He  sat  propped 
up  in  his  chair,  with  pale,  relaxed  visage,  and  glassy, 
wandering  eye.  His  intellect  had  evidently  shared  in 
the  ravages  of  his  frame.  The  servant  was  endeavoring 
to  make  him  comprehend  that  a  visitor  was  at  hand.  I 
tottered  up  to  him,  and  sank  at  his  feet.  All  his  past 
coldness  and  neglect  were  forgotten  in  his  present  suffer- 
ings. I  remembered  only  that  he  was  my  parent,  and 
that  I  had  deserted  him.  I  clasped  his  knee  :  my  voice 
was  almost  filled  with  convulsive  sobs.  "  Pardon — par- 
don !  oh !  my  father !  "  was  all  that  I  could  utter.  His 
apprehension  seemed  slowly  to  return  to  him.  He  gazed 
at  me  for  some  moments  with  a  vague,  inquiring  look ;  a 
convulsive  tremor  quivered  about  his  lips ;  he  feebly 
extended  a  shaking  hand ;  laid  it  upon  my  head,  and 
burst  into  an  infantine  flow  of  tears. 

From  that  moment  he  would  scarcely  spare  me  from 
his  sight.    I  appeared  the   only  object  that  his  heart 


126  TALES  OF  A  TEA  YELLEB, 

responded  to  in  the  world ;  all  else  was  as  a  blank  to 
him.  He  had  almost  lost  the  power  of  speech,  and  the 
reasoning  faculty  seemed  at  an  end.  He  was  mute  and 
passive,  excepting  that  fits  of  childlike  weeping  would 
sometimes  come  over  him  without  any  immediate  cause. 
If  I  left  the  room  at  any  time,  his  eye  was  incessantly 
fixed  on  the  door  till  my  return,  and  on  my  entrance 
there  was  another  gush  of  tears. 

To  talk  with  him  of  all  my  concerns,  in  this  ruined 
state  of  mind,  would  have  been  worse  than  useless ;  to 
have  left  him  for  ever  so  short  a  time  would  have  been 
cruel,  unnatural.  Here  then  was  a  new  trial  for  my 
affections.  I  wrote  to  Bianca  an  account  of  my  return, 
and  of  my  actual  situation,  painting  in  colors  vivid,  for 
they  were  true,  the  torments  I  suffered  at  our  being  thus 
separated ;  for  the  youthful  lover  every  day  of  absence  is 
an  age  of  love  lost.  I  enclosed  the  letter  in  one  to  Fi- 
lippo,  who  was  the  channel  of  our  correspondence.  I 
received  a  reply  from  him  full  of  friendship  and  sympa- 
thy ;  from  Bianca,  full  of  assurances  of  affection  and  con- 
stancy. Week  after  week,  month  after  month  elapsed, 
without  making  any  change  in  my  circumstances.  The 
vital  flame  which  had  seemed  nearly  extinct  when  first  I 
met  my  father,  kept  fluttering  on  without  any  apparent 
diminution.  I  watched  him  constantly,  faithfully,  I  had 
almost  said  patiently.  I  knew  that  his  death  alone 
would  set  me  free — yet  I  never  at  any  moment  wished  it. 
I  felt  too  glad  to  be  able  to  make  any  atonement  for  past 


THE  YOUNQ  ITALIAN.  127 

disobedience  ;  and  denied,  as  I  liad  been,  all  endearments 
of  relationsliip  in  my  early  days,  my  heart  yearned 
towards  a  father,  who  in  his  age  and  helplessness  had 
thrown  himseK  entirely  on  me  for  comfort. 

My  passion  for  Bianca  gained  daily  more  force  from 
absence :  by  constant  meditation  it  wore  itself  a  deeper 
and  deeper  channel.  I  made  no  new  friends  nor  acquaint- 
ances ;  sought  none  of  the  pleasures  of  Naples,  which  my 
rank  and  fortune  threw  open  to  me.  Mine  was  a  heart 
that  confined  itself  to  few  objects,  but  dwelt  upon  them 
with  the  intenser  passion.  To  sit  by  my  father,  adminis- 
ter to  his  wants,  and  to  meditate  on  Bianca  in  the  silence 
of  his  chamber,  was  my  constant  habit.  Sometimes  I 
amused  myself  with  my  pencil,  in  portraying  the  image 
ever  present  to  my  imagination.  I  transferred  to  canvas 
every  look  and  smile  of  hers  that  dwelt  in  my  heart.  I 
showed  them  to  my  father,  in  hopes  of  awakening  an  in- 
terest in  his  bosom  for  the  mere  shadow  of  my  love ;  but 
he  was  too  far  sunk  in  intellect  to  take  any  notice  of 
them.  "When  I  received  a  letter  from  Bianca,  it  was  a 
new  source  of  solitary  luxury.  Her  letters,  it  is  true, 
were  less  and  less  frequent,  but  they  were  always  full  of 
assurances  of  unabated  affection.  They  breathed  not  the 
frank  and  innocent  warmth  with  which  she  expressed 
herself  in  conversation,  but  I  accounted  for  it  from  the 
embarrassment  which  inexperienced  minds  have  often  to 
express  themselves  upon  paper.  Filippo  assured  me  of 
her  unaltered   constancy.     They  both  lamented,  in  the 


128  TALE8  OF  A   TRAVELLER, 

strongest  terms,  our  continued  separation,  though  they 
did  justice  to  the  filial  piety  that  kept  me  by  my  father's 
side. 

Nearly  two  years  elapsed  in  this  protracted  exile.  To 
me  they  were  so  many  ages.  Ardent  and  impetuous  by 
nature,  I  scarcely  know  how  I  should  have  supported  so 
long  an  absence,  had  I  not  felt  assured  that  the  faith  of 
Bianca  was  equal  to  my  own.  At  length  my  father  died. 
Life  went  from  him  almost  imperceptibly.  I  hung  over 
him  in  mute  affliction,  and  watched  the  expiring  spasms 
of  nature.  His  last  faltering  accents  whispered  re- 
peatedly a  blessing  on  me.  Alas !  how  has  it  been  ful- 
filled! 

When  I  had  paid  due  honors  to  his  remains,  and  laid 
them  in  the  tomb  of  our  ancestors,  I  arranged  briefly  my 
affairs,  put  them  in  a  posture  to  be  easily  at  my  com- 
mand from  a  distance,  and  embarked  once  more  with  a 
bounding  heart  for  Genoa. 

Our  voyage  was  propitious,  and  oh !  what  was  my  rap- 
ture, when  first,  in  the  dawn  of  morning,  I  saw  the  shad- 
owy summits  of  the  Apennines  rising  almost  like  clouds 
above  the  horizon!  The  sweet  breath  of  summer  just 
moved  us  over  the  long  wavering  billows  that  were  roll- 
ing us  on  towards  Genoa.  By  degrees  the  coast  of  Sestri 
rose  like  a  creation  of  enchantment  from  the  silver  bosom 
of  the  deep.  I  beheld  the  line  of  villages  and  palaces 
studding  its  borders.  My  eye  reverted  to  a  well-known 
point,  and  at  length,  from  the  confusion  of  distant  objects, 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  129 

it  singled  out  the  villa  which  contained  Bianca.  It  was  a 
mere  speck  in  the  landscape,  but  glimmering  from  afar, 
the  polar  star  of  my  heart. 

Again  I  gazed  at  it  for  a  livelong  summer's  day,  but 
oh !  how  different  the  emotions  between  departure  and  re- 
turn. It  now  kept  growing  and  growing,  instead  of  les- 
sening and  lessening  on  my  sight.  My  heart  seemed  to 
dilate  with  it.  I  looked  at  it  through  a  telescope.  1 
gradually  defined  one  feature  after  another.  The  balco- 
nies of  the  central  saloon  where  first  I  met  Bianca  be- 
neath its  roof ;  the  terrace  where  we  so  often  had  passed 
the  delightful  summer  evenings ;  the  awning  which 
shaded  her  chamber-window ;  I  almost  fancied  I  saw  her 
form  beneath  it.  Could  she  but  know  her  lover  was  in 
the  bark  whose  white  sail  now  gleamed  on  the  sunny 
bosom  of  the  sea  !  My  fond  impatience  increased  as  we 
neared  the  coast ;  the  ship  seemed  to  lag  lazily  over  the 
billows;  I  could  almost  have  sprang  into  the  sea,  and 
swam  to  the  desired  shore. 

The  shadows  of  evening  gradually  shrouded  the  scene  ; 
but  the  moon  arose  in  all  her  fulness  and  beauty,  and 
shed  the  tender  light  so  dear  to  lovers,  over  the  romantic 
coast  of  Sestri.  My  soul  was  bathed  in  unutterable  ten- 
derness. I  anticipated  the  heavenly  evenings  I  should 
pass  in  once  more  wandering  with  Bianca  by  the  light  of 
that  blessed  moon. 

It  was  late  at  night  before  we  entered  the  harbor.  As 
early  next  morning  as  I  could  get  released  from  the  for- 


130  TALE8  OF  A   TBA  VELLER, 

malities  of  landing,  I  threw  myself  on  horseback,  and 
hastened  to  the  villa.  As  I  galloped  round  the  rocky 
promontory  on  which  stands  the  Faro,  and  saw  the  coast 
of  Sestri  opening  upon  me,  a  thousand  anxieties  and 
doubts  suddenly  sprang  up  in  my  bosom.  There  is 
something  fearful  in  returning  to  those  we  love,  while 
yet  uncertain  what  ills  or  changes  absence  may  have 
effected.  The  turbulence  of  my  agitation  shook  my  very 
frame.  I  spurred  my  horse  to  redoubled  speed ;  he  was 
covered  with  foam  when  we  both  arrived  panting  at  the 
gateway  that  opened  to  the  grounds  around  the  villa.  I 
left  my  horse  at  a  cottage,  and  walked  through  the 
grounds,  that  I  might  regain  tranquillity  for  the  ap- 
proaching interview.  I  chid  myself  for  having  suffered 
mere  doubts  and  surmises  thus  suddenly  to  overcome 
me ;  but  I  was  always  prone  to  be  carried  away  by  gusts 
of  the  feelings. 

On  entering  the  garden,  everything  bore  the  same  look 
as  when  I  had  left  it ;  and  this  unchanged  aspect  of 
things  reassured  me.  There  were  the  alleys  in  which  I 
had  so  often  walked  with  Bianca,  as  we  listened  to  the 
song  of  the  nightingale  ;  the  same  shades  under  which 
we  had  so  often  sat  during  the  noontide  heat.  There 
were  the  same  flowers  of  which  she  was  so  fond ;  and 
which  appeared  still  to  be  under  the  ministry  of  her 
hand.  Everything  looked  and  breathed  of  Bianca ;  hope 
and  joy  flushed  in  my  bosom  at  every  step.  I  passed  a 
little  arbor,  in  which  we  had  often  sat  and  read  together ; 


THE  TOUNa  ITALIAN.  131 

^— a  book  and  glove  lay  on  tlie  bench; — it  was  Bianca's 
glove ;  it  was  a  volume  of  the  "  Metastasio  "  I  had  given 
her.  The  glove  lay  in  my  favorite  passage.  I  clasped 
them  to  my  heart  with  rapture.  "All  is  safe  !  "  exclaimed 
I ;  "  she  loves  me,  she  is  still  my  own !  " 

I  bounded  lightly  along  the  avenue,  down  which  I  had 
faltered  slowly  at  my  departure.  I  beheld  her  favorite 
pavilion,  which  had  witnessed  our  parting-scene.  The 
window  was  open,  with  the  same  vine  clambering  about 
it,  precisely  as  when  she  waved  and  wept  me  an  adieu. 
O  how  transporting  was  the  contrast  in  my  situation! 
As  I  passed  near  the  pavilion,  I  heard  the  tones  of  a 
female  voice :  they  thrilled  through  me  with  an  appeal 
to  my  heart  not  to  be  mistaken.  Before  I  could  think,  I 
fdt  they  were  Bianca's.  For  an  instant  I  paused,  over- 
powered with  agitation.  I  feared  to  break  so  suddenly 
upon  her.  I  softly  ascended  the  steps  of  the  pavilion. 
The  door  was  open.  I  saw  Bianca  seated  at  a  table ; 
her  back  was  towards  me,  she  was  warbling  a  soft  mel- 
ancholy air,  and  was  occupied  in  drawing.  A  glance 
sufficed  to  show  me  that  she  was  copying  one  of  my 
own  paintings.  I  gazed  on  her  for  a  moment  in  a  deli- 
cious tumult  of  emotions.  She  paused  in  her  singing  .- 
a  heavy  sigh,  almost  a  sob,  followed.  I  could  no  longer 
contain  myself.  "  Bianca  !  "  exclaimed  I,  in  a  half-smoth- 
ered voice.  She  started  at  the  sound,  brushed  back  the 
ringlets  that  hung  clustering  about  her  face,  darted  a 
glance    at  me,   uttered    a  piercing  shriek,   and  would 


132  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

have  fallen  to  the   earth,  had  I  not  caught  her  in  my 
arms. 

"  Bianca  !  my  own  Bianca  !  "  exclaimed  I,  folding  her 
to  my  bosom,  my  voice  stifled  in  sobs  of  convulsive  joy. 
She  lay  in  my  arms  without  sense  or  motion.  Alarmed 
at  the  effects  of  my  precipitation,  I  scarce  knew  what  to 
do.  I  tried  by  a  thousand  endearing  words  to  call  her 
back  to  consciousness.  She  slowly  recovered,  and  half 
opened  her  eyes. — "  Where  am  I  ?  "  murmured  she  faint- 
ly. "  Here !  "  exclaimed  I,  pressing  her  to  my  bosom, 
"  here — close  to  the  heart  that  adores  you — in  the  arms 
of  your  faithful  Ottavio  !  "  "  Oh  no  !  no  !  no  !  "  shrieked 
she,  starting  into  sudden  life  and  terror, — "  away !  away  \ 
leave  me  !  leave  me  !  '* 

She  tore  herself  from  my  arms ;  rushed  to  a  corner  of 
the  saloon,  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  as  if 
the  very  sight  of  me  were  baleful.  I  was  thunderstruck. 
I  could  not  believe  my  senses.  I  followed  her,  trembling 
— confounded.  I  endeavored  to  take  her  hand ;  but  she 
shrunk  from  my  very  touch  with  horror. 

"  Good  heavens,  Bianca !  "  exclaimed  I,  "  what  is  the 
meaning  of  this  ?  Is  this  my  reception  after  so  long  an 
absence  ?     Is  this  the  love  you  professed  for  me  ?  " 

At  the  mention  of  love,  a  shuddering  ran  through  her. 
She  turned  to  me  a  face  wild  with  anguish  :  "  No  more 
of  that — no  more  of  that !  "  gasped  she  :  "talk  not  to  me 
of  love — I — I — am  married ! " 

I  reeled  as  if  I  had  received  a  mortal  blow — a  sickness 


THE  YOUNG  ITALIAN.  133 

struck  to  my  very  heart.  I  caught  at  a  window-frame  for 
support.  For  a  moment  or  two  everything  was  chaos 
around  me.  When  I  recovered,  I  beheld  Bianca  lying  on 
a  sofa,  her  face  buried  in  the  pillow,  and  sobbing  convul- 
sively. Indignation  for  her  fickleness  for  a  moment  over- 
powered every  other  feeling. 

**  Faithless  !  perjured  !  "  cried  I,  striding  across  the 
room.  But  another  glance  at  that  beautiful  being  in  dis- 
tress checked  all  my  wrath.  Anger  could  not  dwell  to- 
gether with  her  idea  in  my  soul. 

"  Oh !  Bianca,"  exclaimed  I,  in  anguish,  "  could  I  have 
dreamt  of  this?  Could  I  have  suspected  you  would 
have  been  false  to  me  ?  " 

She  raised  her  face  all  streaming  with  tears,  all  dis- 
ordered with  emotion,  and  gave  me  one  appealing  look. 
"  False  to  you  ? — They  told  me  you  were  dead  !  " 

"  What,"  said  I,  "  in  spite  of  our  constant  correspond- 
ence ?  " 

She  gazed  wildly  at  me  :  "  Correspondence  ?  what  cor- 
respondence ! " 

"  Have  you  not  repeatedly  received  and  replied  to  my 
letters?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  solemnity  and  fervor.  "As 
I  hope  for  mercy — never !  " 

A  horrible  surmise  shot  through  my  brain.  "  Who  told 
you  I  was  dead  ?  " 

"  It  was  reported  that  the  ship  in  which  you  embarked 
for  Naples  perished  at  sea." 


134  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLER 

"  But  who  told  jou  the  report  ?  " 

She  paused  for  an  instant,  and  trembled ; — "  Filippo ! " 

"May  the  God  of  heaven  curse  him !  "  cried  I,  extend- 
ing my  clinched  fists  aloft. 

"  Oh  do  not  curse  him,  do  not  curse  him !  "  exclaimed 
she,  "  he  is — he  is — my  husband !  " 

This  was  all  that  was  wanting  to  unfold  the  perfidy  that 
had  been  practised  upon  me.  My  blood  boiled  like  liquid 
fire  in  my  veins.  I  gasped  with  rage  too  great  for  utter- 
ance— I  remained  for  a  time  bewildered  by  the  whirl  of 
horrible  thoughts  that  rushed  through  my  mind.  The 
poor  victim  of  deception  before  me  thought  it  was  with 
her  I  was  incensed.  She  faintly  murmured  forth  her 
exculpation.  I  will  not  dwell  upon  it.  I  saw  in  it  more 
than  she  meant  to  reveal.  I  saw  with  a  glance  how  both 
of  us  had  been  betrayed. 

"  'Tis  well,"  muttered  I  to  myself  in  smothered  accents 
of  concentrated  fury.  "  He  shall  render  an  account  of  all 
this." 

Bianca  overheard  me.  New  ten-or  flashed  in  her  coun- 
tenance. "  For  mercy's  sake,  do  not  meet  him ! — say 
nothing  of  what  has  passed — for  my  sake  say  nothing  to 
him — I  only  shall  be  the  sufferer  !  " 

A  new  suspicion  darted  across  my  mind. — "  What !  " 
exclaimed  I,  "  do  you  then  fear  him  ?  is  he  unkind  to 
you?  Tell  me,"  reiterated  I,  grasping  her  hand,  and 
looking  her  eagerly  in  the  face,  "tell  me — dares  he  to  usq 
you  harshly '? " 


THE   YOUNG  ITALIAN,  135 

"No!  no!  no!"  cried  she,  faltering  and  embarrassed; 
but  the  glance  at  her  face  had  told  volumes.  I  saw  in  her 
pallid  and  wasted  features,  in  the  prompt  terror  and  sub- 
dued agony  of  her  eye,  a  whole  history  of  a  mind  broken 
down  by  tyranny.  Great  God!  and  was  this  beauteous 
flower  snatched  from  me  to  be  thus  trampled  upon  ?  The 
idea  roused  me  to  madness.  I  clinched  my  teeth  and 
hands ;  I  foamed  at  the  mouth  ;  every  passion  seemed  to 
have  resolved  itself  into  the  fury  that  like  a  lava  boiled 
within  my  heart.  Bianca  shrunk  from  me  in  speechless 
affright.  As  I  strode  by  the  window,  my  eye  darted 
down  the  alley.  Fatal  moment!  I  beheld  Filippo  at  a 
distance!  my  brain  was  in  delirium — I  sprang  from  the 
pavilion,  and  was  before  him  with  the  quickness  of  light- 
ning. He  saw  me  as  I  came  rushing  upon  him — he 
turned  pale,  looked  wildly  to  right  and  left,  as  if  he 
would  have  fled,  and  trembling,  drew  his  sword. 

"  "Wretch ! "  cried  I,  "  well  may  you  draw  your 
weapon  I " 

I  spoke  not  another  word — I  snatched  forth  a  stiletto, 
put  by  the  sword  which  trembled  in  his  hand,  and  buried 
my  poniard  in  his  bosom.  He  fell  with  the  blow,  but  my 
rage  was  unsated.  I  sprang  upon  him  with  the  blood- 
thirsty feeling  of  a  tiger ;  redoubled  my  blows ;  mangled 
him  in  my  frenzy,  grasped  him  by  the  throat,  until,  with 
reiterated  wounds  and  strangling  convulsions,  he  expired 
in  my  grasp.  I  remained  glaring  on  the  countenance, 
horrible  in  death,  that  seemed  to  stare  back  with  its  pro- 


136  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLEB, 

truded  eyes  upon  me.  Piercing  shrieks  roused  me  from 
my  delirium.  I  looked  round  and  beheld  Bianca  flying 
distractedly  towards  us.  My  brain  whirled — I  waited  not 
to  meet  her ;  but  fled  from  the  scene  of  horror.  I  fled 
forth  from  the  garden  like  another  Cain, — a  hell  within 
my  bosom,  and  a  curse  upon  my  head.  I  fled  without 
knowing  whither,  almost  without  knowing  why.  My  only 
idea  was  to  get  farther  and  farther  from  the  horrors  I 
had  left  behind ;  as  if  I  could  throw  space  between  my- 
self and  my  conscience.  I  fled  to  the  Apennines,  and 
wandered  for  days  and  days  among  their  savage  heights. 
How  I  existed,  I  cannot  tell ;  what  rocks  and  precipices  I 
braved,  and  how  I  braved  them,  I  know  not.  I  kept  on 
and  on,  trying  to  out-travel  the  curse  that  clung  to  me. 
Alas !  the  shrieks  of  Bianca  rung  forever  in  my  ears. 
The  horrible  countenance  of  my  victim  was  forever  before 
my  eyes.  The  blood  of  Filippo  cried  to  me  from  the 
ground.  Eocks,  trees,  and  torrents,  all  resounded  with 
my  crime.  Then  it  was  I  felt  how  much  more  insupport- 
able is  the  anguish  of  remorse  than  every  other  mental 
pang.  Oh !  could  I  but  have  cast  off  this  crime  that  fes- 
tered in  my  heart — could  I  but  have  regained  the  inno- 
cence that  reigned  in  my  breast  as  I  entered  the  garden 
at  Sestri — could  I  have  but  restored  my  victim  to  life,  I 
felt  as  if  I  could  look  on  with  transport,  even  though 
Bianca  were  in  his  arms. 

By  degrees  this  frenzied  fever  of  remorse  settled  into  a 
permanent  malady  of  the  mind — into  one  of  the  most 


THE  DEATH   OF  FILIPPO.       (P.    I36). 


TEE   YOUNG  ITALIAN.  137 

horrible  that  ever  poor  wretch  was  cursed  with.  Wher- 
ever I  went,  the  countenance  of  him  I  had  slain  appeared 
to  follow  me.  Whenever  I  turned  my  head,  I  beheld  it 
behind  me,  hideous  with  the  contortions  of  the  dying 
moment.  I  have  tried  in  every  way  to  escape  from  this 
horrible  phantom,  but  in  vain.  I  know  not  whether  it 
be  an  illusion  of  the  mind,  the  consequence  of  my  dismal 
education  at  the  convent,  or  whether  a  phantom  really 
sent  by  Heaven  to  punish  me,  but  there  it  ever  is — at  all 
times — in  all  places.  Nor  has  time  nor  habit  had  any 
effect  in  familiarizing  me  with  its  terrors.  I  have  trav- 
elled from  place  to  place — plunged  into  amusements — 
tried  dissipation  and  distraction  of  every  kind — all — all 
in  vain.  I  once  had  recourse  to  my  pencil,  as  a  desper- 
ate experiment.  I  painted  an  exact  resemblance  of  this 
phantom-face.  I  placed  it  before  me,  in  hopes  that  by 
constantly  contemplating  the  copy,  I  might  diminish  the 
effect  of  the  original.  But  I  only  doubled  instead  of 
diminishing  the  misery.  Such  is  the  curse  that  has 
clung  to  my  footsteps — that  has  made  my  life  a  burden, 
but  the  thought  of  death  terrible.  God  knows  what  I 
have  suffered — what  days  and  days,  and  nights  and 
nights  of  sleepless  torment — what  a  never-dying  worm 
has  preyed  upon  my  heart — what  an  unquenchable  fire 
has  burned  within  my  brain !  He  knows  the  wrongs  that 
wrought  upon  my  poor  weak  nature ;  that  converted  the 
tenderest  of  affections  into  the  deadliest  of  fury.  He 
knows  best  whether  a  frail  erring  creature  has  expiated 


138  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

by  long-enduring  torture  and  measureless  remorse  the 
crime  of  a  moment  of  madness.  Often,  often  have  I  pros- 
trated myself  in  the  dust,  and  implored  that  he  would 
give  me  a  sign  of  his  forgiveness,  and  let  me  die 

Thus  far  had  I  written  some  time  since.  I  had  meant 
to  leave  this  record  of  misery  and  crime  with  you,  to  be 
read  when  I  should  be  no  more. 

My  prayer  to  Heaven  has  at  length  been  heard.  You 
were  witness  to  my  emotions  last  evening  at  the  church, 
when  the  vaulted  temple  resounded  with  the  words  of 
atonement  and  redemption.  I  heard  a  voice  speaking  to 
me  from  the  midst  of  the  music  ;  I  heard  it  rising  above 
the  pealing  of  the  organ  and  the  voices  of  the  choir — it 
spoke  to  me  in  tones  of  celestial  melody — it  promised 
mercy  and  forgiveness,  but  demanded  from  me  full  expi- 
ation. I  go  to  make  it.  To-morrow  I  shall  be  on  my 
way  to  Genoa,  to  surrender  myself  to  justice.  You  who 
have  pitied  my  sufferings,  who  have  poured  the  balm  of 
sympathy  into  my  wounds,  do  not  shrink  from  my 
memory  with  abhorrence  now  that  you  know  my  story. 
Becollect,  that  when  you  read  of  my  crime  I  shall  have 
atoned  for  it  with  my  blood ! 

When  the  Baronet  had  finished,  there  was  a  universal 
desire  expressed  to  see  the  painting  of  this  frightful  vis- 
age. After  much  entreaty  the  Baronet  consented,  on 
condition  that  they  should  only  visit  it  one  by  one.     He 


THE  TOUJVO  ITALIAN.  139 

called  his  housekeeper,  and  gave  her  charge  to  conduct 
the  gentlemen,  singly,  to  the  chamber.  They  all  returned 
varying  in  their  stories :  some  affected  in  one  way,  some 
in  another ;  some  more,  some  less ;  but  all  agreeing  that 
there  was  a  certain  something  about  the  painting  that 
had  a  very  odd  effect  upon  the  feelings. 

I  stood  in  a  deep  bow- window  with  the  Baronet,  and 
could  not  help  expressing  my  wonder.  "  After  all,"  said 
I,  "  there  are  certain  mysteries  in  our  nature,  certain 
inscrutable  impulses  and  influences,  which  warrant  one 
in  being  superstitious.  Who  can  account  for  so  many 
perscus  of  different  characters  being  thus  strangely 
affected  by  a  mere  painting  ?  " 

"  And  especially  when  not  one  of  them  has  seen  it !  ** 
said  the  Baronet,  with  a  smile. 

"  How  !  "  exclaimed  I,  "  not  seen  it  ?  " 

"Not  one  of  them!  "  replied  he,  laying  his  finger  on 
his  lips,  in  sign  of  secrecy.  "I  saw  that  some  of  them 
were  in  a  bantering  vein,  and  did  not  choose  that  the 
memento  of  the  poor  Italian  should  be  made  a  jest  of. 
So  I  gave  the  housekeeper  a  hint  to  show  them  all  to 
a  different  chamber  !  " 

Thus  end  the  stories  of  the  Nervous  Gentleman. 


PAET  SECOND. 


BUCKTHOENE  AND  HIS  FEIENDS. 

This  world  is  the  best  that  we  live  in, 

To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  give  in  ; 

But  to  beg,  or  to  borrow,  or  get  a  man's  own, 

'Ti£  the  very  worst  world,  sir,  that  ever  was  known. 

Lhiesfrom,  an  Inn  Window. 


LITERAEY   LIFE. 

MONG  other  subjects  of  a  traveller's  curiosity, 
I  liad  at  one  time  a  great  craving  after  anec- 
dotes of  literary  life  ;  and  being  at  London,  one 
of  the  most  noted  places  for  the  production  of  books,  I 
was  excessively  anxious  to  know  something  of  the  animals 
which  produced  them.  Chance  fortunately  threw  me  in 
the  way  of  a  literary  man  by  the  name  of  Buckthorne,  an 
eccentric  personage,  who  had  lived  much  in  the  metropo- 
lis, and  could  give  me  the  natural  history  of  every  odd 
animal  to  be  met  with  in  that  wilderness  of  men.  He 
readily  imparted  to  me  some  useful  hints  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  my  inquiry. 

"The  literary  world,"  said  he,  "is  made  up  of  little 
confederacies,  each  looking  upon  its  own  members  as  the 
lights  of  the  universe  ;  and  considering  all  others  as  mere 
transient  meteors,  doomed  soon  to  fall  and  be  forgotten, 
while  its  own  luminaries  are  to  shine  steadily  on  to  im- 
mortality." 

"And  pray,"  said  I,  "  how  is  a  man  to  get  a  peep  into 
those  confederacies  you  speak  of  ?  I  presume  an  inter^ 
course  with  authors  is  a  kind  of  intellectual  exchange, 
where  one  must  bring  his  commodities  to  barter,  and 
always  give  a  quid ^o  quo'^ 


144  TALES  OP  A  mAVELLEB. 

"Pooh,  pooh!  how  you  mistake,"  said  Buckthorne, 
smiling;  "jou  must  never  think  to  become  popular 
among  wits  by  shining.  They  go  into  society  to  shine 
themselves,  not  to  admire  the  brilliancy  of  others.  I 
once  thought  as  you  do,  and  never  went  into  literarj? 
society  without  studying  my  part  beforehand ;  the  con- 
sequence was,  that  I  soon  got  the  name  of  an  intolerable 
proser,  and  should  in  a  little  while  have  been  completely 
excommunicated,  had  I  not  changed  my  plan  of  oper- 
ations. No,  sir,  no  character  succeeds  so  well  among  wits 
as  that  of  a  good  listener ;  or  if  ever  you  are  eloquent, 
let  it  be  when  tete-a-tete  with  an  author,  and  then  in 
praise  of  his  own  works,  or,  what  is  nearly  as  acceptable, 
in  disparagement  of  the  works  of  his  contemporaries.  If 
ever  he  speaks  favorably  of  the  productions  of  a  particu- 
lar friend,  dissent  boldly  from  him  ;  pronounce  his  friend 
to  be  a  blockhead ;  never  fear  his  being  vexed.  Much 
as  people  speak  of  the  irritability  of  authors,  I  never 
found  one  to  take  offence  at  such  contradictions.  No,  no, 
sir,  auithors  are  particularly  candid  in  admitting  the 
faults  of  their  friends. 

"  Indeed,  I  would  advise  you  to  be  exceedingly  sparing 
of  remarks  on  all  modern  works,  except  to  make  sarcastic 
observations  on  the  most  distinguished  writers  of  the 
day." 

"Faith,"  said  I,  "I'll  praise  none  that  have  not  been 
dead  for  at  least  half  a  century." 

"Even   then,"    observed   Mr.    Buckthorne,    "I  would 


LITERARY  LIFE.  145 

advise  you  to  be  rather  cautious ;  for  you  must  know 
that  many  old  writers  have  been  enlisted  under  the  ban- 
ners of  different  sects,  and  their  merits  have  become  as 
completely  topics  of  party  discussion  as  the  merits  of 
living  statesmen  and  politicians.  Nay,  there  have  been 
whole  periods  of  literature  absolutely  taboo'd,  to  use  a 
South  Sea  phrase.  It  is,  for  example,  as  much  as  a  man's 
critical  reputation  is  worth  in  some  circles,  to  say  a  word 
in  praise  of  any  of  the  writers  of  the  reign  of  Charles  the 
Second,  or  even  of  Queen  Anne,  they  being  all  declared 
Frenchmen  in  disguise." 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "when  am  I  then  to  know  that  I 
um  on  safe  grounds,  being  totally  unacquainted  with  the 
literary  landmarks,  and  the  boundary-line  of  fashionable 
taste  ? " 

"  Oh  !  "  replied  he,  "  there  is  fortunately  one  tract  of 
literature  which  forms  a  kind  of  neutral  ground,  on  which 
all  the  literary  meet  amicably,  and  run  riot  in  the  excess 
of  their  good-humor ;  and  this  is  in  the  reigns  of  Eliza- 
beth and  James.  Here  you  may  praise  away  at  random. 
Here  it  is  *  cut  and  come  again ; '  and  the  more  obscure 
the  author,  and  the  more  quaint  and  crabbed  his  style, 
the  more  your  admiration  will  smack  of  the  real  relish  of 
the  connoisseur  ;  whose  taste,  like  that  of  an  epicure,  is 
always  for  game  that  has  an  antiquated  flavor. 

"But,"  continued  he,  "as  you  seem  anxious  to  know 

something  of  literary  society,  I  will  take  an  opportunity 

to  introduce  you  to  some  coterie,  where  the  talents  of  the 
10 


146  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLEB. 

day  are  assembled.  I  cannot  promise  you,  however,  that 
they  will  all  be  of  the  first  order.  Somehow  or  other,  our 
great  geniuses  are  not  gregarious ;  they  do  not  go  in 
flocks,  but  fly  singly  in  general  society.  They  prefer 
mingling  like  common  men  with  the  multitude,  and  are 
apt  to  carry  nothing  of  the  author  about  them  but  the 
reputation.  It  is  only  the  inferior  orders  that  herd  to- 
gether, acquire  strength  and  importance  by  their  con- 
federacies, and  bear  all  the  distinctive  characteristics  of 
their  species." 


A  LITEEAEY  DINNER. 

VEW  days  after  this  conversation  with  Mr. 
Buckthorne,  he  called  upon  me,  and  took  me 
with  him  to  a  regular  literary  dinner.  It  was 
given  by  a  great  bookseller,  or  rather  a  company  of  book- 
sellers, whose  firm  surpassed  in  length  that  of  Shadrach, 
Meshech,  and  Abednego. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  between  twenty  and  thirty 
guests  assembled,  most  of  whom  I  had  never  seen  before. 
Mr.  Buckthorne  explained  this  to  me,  by  informing  me 
that  this  was  a  business-dinner,  or  kind  of  field-day 
which  the  house  gave  about  twice  a  year  to  its  authors. 
It  is  true  they  did  occasionally  give  snug  dinners  to  three 
or  four  literary  men  at  a  time  ;  but  then  these  were  gen- 
erally select  authors,  favorites  of  the  public,  such  as  had 
arrived  at  their  sixth  or  seventh  editions.  "  There  are," 
said  he,  "  certain  geographical  boundaries  in  the  land  of 
literature,  and  you  may  judge  tolerably  well  of  an 
author's  popularity  by  the  wine  his  bookseller  gives  him. 
An  author  crosses  the  port  line  about  the  third  edition, 
and  gets  into  claret ;  and  when  he  has  reached  the  sixth 

or  seventh,  he  may  revel  in  champagne  and  burgundy." 

147 


148  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  how  far  may  these  gentlemen 
have  reached  that  I  see  around  me?  are  any  of  these 
claret-drinkers  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,  not  exactly.  You  find  at  these  great  din- 
ners the  common  steady  run  of  authors,  one  or  two 
edition  men ;  or  if  any  others  are  invited,  they  are  aware 
that  it  is  a  kind  of  republican  meeting, — ^you  understand 
me — a  meeting  of  the  republic  of  letters  ;  and  that  they 
must  expect  nothing  but  plain,  substantial  fare." 

These  hints  enabled  me  to  comprehend  more  fully  the 
arrangement  of  the  table.  The  two  ends  were  occupied 
by  two  partners  of  the  house ;  and  the  host  seemed  to 
have  adopted  Addison's  idea  as  to  the  literary  prece- 
dence of  his  guests.  A  popular  poet  had  the  post  of 
honor ;  opposite  to  whom  was  a  hot-pressed  traveller  in 
quarto  with  plates.  A  grave-looking  antiquarian,  who 
had  produced  several  solid  works,  that  were  much  quoted 
and  little  read,  was  treated  with  great  respect,  and  seated 
next  to  a  neat,  dressy  gentleman  in  black,  who  had 
written  a  thin,  genteel,  hot-pressed  octavo  on  political 
economy,  that  was  getting  into  fashion.  Several  three- 
volumed  duodecimo  men,  of  fair  currency,  were  placed 
about  the  centre  of  the  table  ;  while  the  lower  end  was 
taken  up  with  small  poets,  translators,  and  authors  who 
had  not  as  yet  risen  into  much  notoriety. 

The  conversation  during  dinner  was  by  fits  and  starts  ; 
breaking  out  here  and  there  in  various  parts  of  the  table 
in  small  flashes,  and  ending  in  smoke.     The  poet,  who 


A  LITER  ART  DINNER.  149 

had  the  confidence  of  a  man  on  good  terms  with  the 
world,  and  independent  of  his  bookseller,  was  very  gay 
and  brilliant,  and  said  many  clever  things  which  set  the 
partner  next  him  in  a  roar,  and  delighted  all  the  com- 
pany. The  other  partner,  however,  maintained  his 
sedateness,  and  kept  carving  on,  with  the  air  of  a 
thorough  man  of  business,  intent  upon  the  occupation  of 
the  moment.  His  gravity  was  explained  to  me  by  my 
friend  Buckthorne.  He  informed  me  that  the  concerns 
of  the  house  were  admirably  distributed  among  the  part- 
ners. "Thus,  for  instance,"  said  he,  "the  grave  gentle- 
man is  the  carving  partner,  who  attends  to  the  joints ; 
and  the  other  is  the  laughing  partner,  who  attends  to  the 
jokes." 

The  general  conversation  was  chiefly  carried  on  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  table,  as  the  authors  there  seemed  to 
possess  the  greatest  courage  of  the  tongue.  As  to  the 
crew  at  the  lower  end,  if  they  did  not  make  much  figure 
in  talking,  they  did  in  eating.  Never  was  there  a  more 
determined,  inveterate,  thoroughly  sustained  attack  on 
the  trencher  than  by  this  phalanx  of  masticators.  When 
the  cloth  was  removed,  and  the  wine  began  to  circulate, 
they  grew  very  merry  and  jocose  among  themselves. 
Their  jokes,  however,  if  by  chance  any  of  them  reached 
the  upper  end  of  the  table,  seldom  produced  much  effect. 
Even  the  laughing  partner  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
honor  them  with  a  smile  ;  which  my  neighbor  Buck- 
thorne accounted  for,  by  informing  me  that  there  was  a 


150  TALE8  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

certain  degree  of  popularity  to  be  obtained  before  a 
bookseller  could  afford  to  laugh  at  an  author's  jokes. 

Among  this  crew  of  questionable  gentlemen  thus  seated 
below  the  salt,  my  eye  singled  out  one  in  particular.  He 
was  rather  shabbily  dressed ;  though  he  had  evidently 
made  the  most  of  a  rusty  black  coat,  and  wore  his  shirt- 
frill  plaited  and  puffed  out  voluminously  at  the  bosom. 
His  face  was  dusky,  but  florid,  perhaps  a  little  too  florid, 
particularly  about  the  nose ;  though  the  rosy  hue  gave 
the  greater  lustre  to  a  twinkling  black  eye.  He  had  a 
little  the  look  of  a  boon  companion,  with  that  dash  of 
the  poor  devil  in  it  which  gives  an  inexpressible  mellow 
tone  to  a  man's  humor.  I  had  seldom  seen  a  face  of 
richer  promise ;  but  never  was  promise  so  ill  kept.  He 
said  nothing,  ate  and  drank  with  the  keen  appetite  of  a 
garreteer,  and  scarcely  stopped  to  laugh,  even  at  the  good 
jokes  from  the  upper  end  of  the  table.  I  inquired  who 
he  was.  Buckthorne  looked  at  him  attentively :  "  Gad," 
said  he,  "  I  have  seen  that  face  before,  but  where  I  can- 
not recollect.  He  cannot  be  an  author  of  any  note.  I 
suppose  some  writer  of  sermons,  or  grinder  of  foreign 
travels." 

After  dinner  we  retired  to  another  room  to  take  tea 
and  coffee,  where  we  were  reinforced  by  a  cloud  of 
inferior  guests, — authors  of  small  volumes  in  boards, 
and  pamphlets  stitched  in  blue  paper.  These  had  not 
as  yet  arrived  to  the  importance  of  a  dinner-invitation, 
but  were  invited  occasionally  to  pass  the  evening  in  a 


A  LITERARY  DINNER.  151 

friendly  way.  They  were  very  respectful  to  tlie  partners, 
and,  indeed,  seemed  to  stand  a  little  in  awe  of  tliem  ;  but 
they  paid  devoted  court  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  and 
were  extravagantly  fond  of  the  children.  Some  few,  who 
did  not  feel  confidence  enough  to  make  such  advances, 
stood  shyly  off  in  corners,  talking  to  one  another ;  or 
turned  over  portfolios  of  prints  which  they  had  not  seen 
above  five  thousand  times,  or  moused  over  the  music  on 
the  forte-piano. 

The  poet  and  the  thin  octavo  gentleman  were  the  per- 
sons most  current  and  at  their  ease  in  the  drawing-room ; 
being  men  evidently  of  circulation  in  the  West  End. 
They  got  on  each  side  of  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  paid 
her  a  thousand  compliments  and  civilities,  at  some  of 
which  I  though't  she  would  have  expired  with  delight. 
Everything  they  said  and  did  had  the  odor  of  fashiona- 
ble life.  I  looked  round  in  vain  for  the  poor-devil  author 
in  the  rusty  black  coat ;  he  had  disappeared  immediately 
after  leaving  the  table,  having  a  dread,  no  doubt,  of  the 
glaring  light  of  a  drawing-room.  Finding  nothing  fur- 
ther to  interest  my  attention,  I  took  my  departure  soon 
after  cofiee  had  been  served,  leaving  the  poet,  and  the 
thin,  genteel,  hot-pressed  octavo  gentleman,  masters  of 
the  field. 


THE    CLUB    OF    QUEEE  FELLOWS. 


THINK  it  was  the  very  next  evening  that,  in 
coming  out  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre  with  my 
eccentric  friend  Buckthorne,  he   proposed  to 


give  me  another  peep  at  life  and  character.  Finding  me 
willing  for  any  research  of  the  kind,  he  took  me  through 
a  variety  of  the  narrow  courts  and  lanes  about  Covent 
Garden,  until  we  stopped  before  a  tavern,  from  which  we 
heard  the  bursts  of  merriment  of  a  jovial  party.  There 
would  be  a  loud  peal  of  laughter,  then  an  interval,  then 
another  peal,  as  if  a  prime  wag  were  telling  a  story. 
After  a  little  while  there  was  a  song,  and  at  the  close  of 
each  stanza  a  hearty  roar,  and  a  vehement  thumping  on 
the  table. 

"  This  is  the  place,"  whispered  Buckthorne ;  "  it  is  the 
club  of  queer  fellows,  a  great  resort  of  the  small  wits, 
third-rate  actors,  and  newspaper  critics  of  the  theatres. 
Any  one  can  go  in  on  paying  a  sixpence  at  the  bar  for  the 
use  of  the  club." 

We  entered,  therefore,  without  ceremony,  and  took  our 
seats  at  a  lone  table,  in  a  dusky  corner  of  the  room.  The 
club  was  assembled  round  a  table,  on  which  stood  bever- 

153 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEEM  FELLOWS.  I53 

ages  of  various  kinds,  according  to  the  tastes  of  the  indi- 
viduals. The  members  were  a  set  of  queer  fellows  indeed ; 
but  what  was  my  surprise  on  recognizing,  in  the  prime 
wit  of  the  meeting,  the  poor-devil  author  whom  I  had 
remarked  at  the  booksellers'  dinner  for  his  promising 
face  and  his  complete  taciturnity.  Matters,  however, 
were  entirely  changed  with  him.  There  he  was  a  mere 
cipher;  here  he  was  lord  of  the  ascendant,  the  choice 
spirit,  the  dominant  genius.  He  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
table  with  his  hat  on,  and  an  eye  beaming  even  more 
luminously  than  his  nose.  He  had  a  quip  and  a  fillip  for 
every  one,  and  a  good  thing  on  every  occasion.  Nothing 
could  be  said  or  done  without  eliciting  a  spark  from  him : 
and  I  solemnly  declare  I  have  heard  much  worse  wit 
even  from  noblemen.  His  jokes,  it  must  be  confessed, 
were  rather  wet,  but  they  suited  the  circle  over  which 
he  presided.  The  company  were  in  that  maudlin  mood, 
when  a  little  wit  goes  a  great  way.  Every  time  he  opened 
his  lips  there  was  sure  to  be  a  roar ;  and  even  sometimes 
before  he  had  time  to  speak. 

"We  were  fortunate  enough  to  enter  in  time  for  a  glee 
composed  by  him  expressly  for  the  club,  and  which  he 
sung  with  two  boon  companions,  who  would  have  been 
worthy  subjects  for  Hogarth's  pencil.  As  they  were  each 
provided  with  a  written  copy,  I  was  enabled  to  procure 
the  reading  of  it. 

' '  Merrily,  merrily  push  round  the  glass, 
And  merrily  troll  the  glee, 


X54  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLEB- 

For  he  who  won't  drink  till  he  wink,  is  an  ass, 
So,  neighbor,  I  drink  to  thee. 

**  Merrily,  merrily  fuddle  thy  nose, 
Until  it  right  rosy  shall  be  ; 
For  a  joDy  red  nose,  I  speak  under  the  rose, 
Is  a  sign  of  good  company." 

We  waited  until  tlie  party  broke  up,  and  no  one  but 
the  wit  remained.  He  sat  at  the  table  with  his  legs 
stretched  under  it,  and  wide  apart;  his  hands  in  his 
breeches-pockets ;  his  head  drooped  upon  his  breast ;  and 
gazing  with  lack-lustre  countenance  on  an  empty  tankard. 
His  gayety  was  gone,  his  fire  completely  quenched. 

My  companion  approached,  and  startled  him  from  his 
fit  of  brown  study,  introducing  himself  on  the  strength  of 
their  having  dined  together  at  the  booksellers'. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  he,  "  it  seems  to  me  I  have  seen 
you  before ;  your  face  is  surely  that  of  an  old  acquaint- 
ance, though  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot  tell  where  I  have 
known  you." 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  he,  with  a  smile  ;  "  many  of  my 
old  friends  have  forgotten  me.  Though,  to  tell  the  truth, 
my  memory  in  this  instance  is  as  bad  as  your  own.  If, 
however,  it  will  assist  your  recollection  in  any  way,  my 
name  is  Thomas  Dribble,  at  your  service." 

"  "What !  Tom  Dribble,  who  was  at  old  Birchell's  school 
in  Warwickshire  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  said  the  other,  coolly. 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS.  I55 

"Why,  then,  we  are  old  schoolmates,  though  it's  no 
wonder  you  don't  recollect  me.  I  was  your  junior  by 
several  years ;  don't  you  recollect  little  Jack  Buck- 
thorne  ?  " 

Here  there  ensued  a  scene  of  school-fellow  recognition, 
and  a  world  of  talk  about  old  school-times  and  school- 
pranks.  Mr.  Dribble  ended  by  observing,  with  a  heavy 
sigh,  "  that  times  were  sadly  changed  since  those  days." 

"  Faith,  Mr.  Dribble,"  said  I,  "you  seem  quite  a  differ- 
ent man  here  from  what  you  were  at  dinner.  I  had  no 
idea  that  you  had  so  much  stuff  in  you.  There  you  were 
all  silence,  but  here  you  absolutely  keep  the  table  in  a 
roar." 

"Ah!  my  dear  sir,"  replied  he,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head,  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  "  I  am  a  mere  glow- 
worm. I  never  shine  by  daylight.  Besides,  it's  a  hard 
thing  for  a  poor  devil  of  an  author  to  shine  at  the  table  of 
a  rich  bookseller.  Who  do  you  think  would  laugh  at  any- 
thing I  could  say,  when  I  had  some  of  the  current  wits 
of  the  day  about  me  ?  But  here,  though  a  poor  devil,  I 
am  among  still  poorer  devils  than  myself ;  men  who  look 
up  to  me  as  a  man  of  letters,  and  a  belle-esprit,  and  all 
my  jokes  pass  as  sterling  gold  from  the  mini 

"  You  surely  do  yourself  injustice,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  I 
have  certainly  heard  more  good  things  from  you  this 
evening,  than  from  any  of  those  beaus-esprits  by  whom 
you  appear  to  have  been  so  daunted." 

"  Ah,  sir  !  but  they  have  luck  on  their  side ;  they  are 


156  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

in  the  fashion — there's  nothing  like  being  in  fashion. 
A  man  that  has  once  got  his  character  up  for  a  wit  is 
always  sure  of  a  laugh,  say  what  he  may.  He  may  utter 
as  much  nonsense  as  he  pleases,  and  all  will  pass  cur- 
rent. No  one  stops  to  question  the  coin  of  a  rich  man ; 
but  a  poor  devil  cannot  pass  off  either  a  joke  or  a  guinea, 
without  its  being  examined  on  both  sides.  Wit  and  coin 
are  always  doubted  with  a  threadbare  coat. 

"For  my  part,"  continued  he,  giving  his  hat  a  twitch 
a  little  more  on  one  side, — "  for  my  part,  I  hate  your  fine 
dinners ;  there's  nothing,  sir,  like  the  freedom  of  a  chop- 
house.  I'd  rather,  any  time,  have  my  steak  and  tankard 
among  my  own  set,  than  drink  claret  and  eat  venison 
with  your  cursed  civil,  elegant  company,  who  never  laugh 
at  a  good  joke  from  a  poor  devil  for  fear  of  its  being 
vulgar.  A  good  joke  grows  in  a  wet  soil ;  it  flourishes  in 
low  places,  but  withers  on  your  d — d  high,  dry  grounds. 
I  once  kept  high  company,  sir,  until  I  nearly  ruined  my- 
self; I  grew  so  dull,  and  vapid,  and  genteel.  Nothing 
saved  me  but  being  arrested  by  my  landlady,  and  thrown 
into  prison;  where  a  course  of  catch-clubs,  eightpenny 
ale,  and  poor-devil  company,  manured  my  mind,  and 
brought  it  back  to  itself  again." 

As  it  was  now  growing  late,  we  parted  for  the  evening, 
though  I  felt  anxious  to  know  more  of  this  practical  phi- 
losopher. I  was  glad,  therefore,  when  Buckthorne  pro- 
posed to  have  another  meeting,  to  talk  over  old  school- 
times,  and  inquired  his  schoolmate's  address.     The  lattei 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS.  157 

seemed  at  first  a  little  shy  of  naming  liis  lodgings ;  but 
suddenly,  assuming  an  air  of  hardihood — "  Green-arbor 

Court,  sir,"  exclaimed  he —  "  Number in  Green-arbor 

Court.  You  must  know  the  place.  Classic  ground, 
sir,  classic  ground  !  It  was  there  Goldsmith  wrote  his 
*  Vicar  of  Wakefield,' — I  always  like  to  live  in  literary 
haunts." 

I  was  amused  with  this  whimsical  apology  for  shabby 
quarters.  On  our  way  homeward,  Buckthorne  assured 
me  that  this  Dribble  had  been  the  prime  wit  and  great 
wag  of  the  school  in  their  boyish  days,  and  one  of  those 
unlucky  urchins  denominated  bright  geniuses.  As  he 
perceived  me  curious  respecting  his  old  schoolmate,  he 
promised  to  take  me  with  him  in  his  proposed  visit  to 
Green-arbor  Court. 

A  few  mornings  afterward  he  called  upon  me,  and  we 
set  forth  on  our  expedition.  He  led  me  through  a  vari- 
ety of  singular  alleys,  and  courts,  and  blind  passages; 
for  he  appeared  to  be  perfectly  versed  in  all  the  intricate 
geography  of  the  metropolis.  At  length  we  came  out 
upon  Fleet  Market,  and  traversing  it,  turned  up  a  narrow 
street  to  the  bottom  of  a  long  steep  flight  of  stone  steps, 
called  Break-neck  Stairs.  These,  he  told  me,  led  up  to 
Green-arbor  Court,  and  that  down  them  poor  Goldsmith 
might  many  a  time  have  risked  his  neck.  When  we 
antered  the  court,  I  could  not  but  smile  to  think  in  what 
out-of-the-way  corners  genius  produces  her  bantlings! 
And  the   muses,  those   capricious  dames,  who,  forsooth, 


158  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER 

SO  often  refuse  to  visit  palaces,  and  deny  a  single  smile 
to  votaries  in  splendid  studies,  and  gilded  drawing- 
rooms, — what  holes  and  burrows  will  they  frequent  to 
lavish  their  favors  on  some  ragged  disciple ! 

This  Green-arbor  Court  I  found  to  be  a  small  square, 
surrounded  by  tall  and  miserable  houses,  the  very  intes- 
tines of  which  seemed  turned  inside  out,  to  judge  from 
the  old  garments  and  frippery  fluttering  from  every  win- 
dow. It  appeared  to  be  a  region  of  washerwomen,  and 
lines  were  stretched  about  the  little  square,  on  which 
clothes  were  dangling  to  dry. 

Just  as  we  entered  the  square,  a  scuffle  took  place 
between  two  viragoes  about  a  disputed  right  to  a  wash- 
tub,  and  immediately  the  whole  community  was  in  a  hub- 
bub. Heads  in  mob-caps  popped  out  of  every  window, 
and  such  a  clamor  of  tongues  ensued,  that  I  was  fain  to 
stop  my  ears.  Every  amazon  took  part  with  one  or  other 
of  the  disputants,  and  brandished  her  arms,  dripping 
with  soap-suds,  and  fired  away  from  her  window  as  from 
the  embrazure  of  a  fortress ;  while  the  swarms  of  children 
nestled  and  cradled  in  every  procreant  chamber  of  this 
hive,  waking  with  the  noise,  set  up  their  shrill  pipes  to 
swell  the  general  concert. 

Poor  Goldsmith !  what  a  time  he  must  have  had  of  it, 
with  his  quiet  disposition  and  nervous  habits,  penned  up 
in  this  den  of  noise  and  vulgarity !  How  strange,  that, 
while  every  sight  and  sound  was  sufficient  to  embitter 
the  heart,  and  fill  it  with  misanthropy,  his  pen  should  be 


tEE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS.  I59 

dropping  tlie  honey  of  Hjbla !  Yet  it  is  more  than  proba- 
ble that  he  drew  many  of  his  inimitable  pictures  of  low 
life  from  the  scenes  which  surrounded  him  in  this  abode. 
The  circumstance  of  Mrs.  Tibbs  being  obliged  to  wash 
her  husband's  two  shirts  in  a  neighbor's  house,  who 
refused  to  lend  her  wash-tub,  may  have  been  no  sport  of 
fancy,  but  a  fact  passing  under  his  own  eye.  His  land- 
lady may  have  sat  for  the  picture,  and  Beau  Tibbs's 
scanty  wardrobe  have  been  2^,  facsimile  of  his  own. 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  we  found  our  way  to 
Dribble's  lodgings.  They  were  up  two  pair  of  stairs,  in 
a  room  that  looked  upon  the  court ;  and  when  we  entered, 
he  was  seated  on  the  edge  of  his  bed,  writing  at  a  broken 
table.  He  received  us,  however,  with  a  free,  open,  poor- 
devil  air,  that  was  irresistible.  It  is  true  he  did  at  first 
appear  slightly  confused;  buttoned  up  his  waistcoat  a 
little  higher,  and  tucked  in  a  stray  frill  of  linen.  But 
he  recollected  himself  in  an  instant ;  gave  a  half  swagger, 
half  leer,  as  he  stepped  forth  to  receive  us ;  drew  a  three- 
legged  stool  for  Mr.  Buckthorne  ;  pointed  me  to  a  lum- 
bering old  damask  chair,  that  looked  like  a  dethroned 
monarch  in  exile ;  and  bade  us  welcome  to  his  garret. 

We  soon  got  engaged  in  conversation.  Buckthorne 
and  he  had  much  to  say  about  early  school-scenes ;  and 
as  nothing  opens  a  man's  heart  more  than  recollections 
of  the  kind,  we  soon  drew  from  him  a  brief  outline  of  his 
literary  career. 


THE    POOE-DEVIL   AUTHOR. 

BEGAN  life  unluckily  by  being  the  wag  and 
bright  fellow  at  school;  and  I  had  the  further 
misfortune  of  becoming  the  great  genius  of  my 
native  village.  My  father  was  a  country  attorney,  and 
intended  I  should  succeed  him  in  business ;  but  I  had  too 
much  genius  to  study,  and  he  was  too  fond  of  my  genius 
to  force  it  into  the  traces ;  so  I  fell  into  bad  company, 
and  took  to  bad  habits.  Do  not  mistake  me.  I  mean 
that  I  fell  into  the  company  of  village-literati,  and  vil- 
lage-blues, and  took  to  writing  village-poetry. 

It  was  quite  the  fashion  in  the  village  to  be  literary, 
There  was  a  little  knot  of  choice  spirits  of  us,  who 
assembled  frequently  together,  formed  ourselves  into  a 
Literary,  Scientific,  and  Philosophical  Society,  and  fan- 
cied ourselves  the  most  learned  Philos  in  existence. 
Every  one  had  a  great  character  assigned  him,  suggested 
by  some  casual  habit  or  affectation.  One  heavy  fellow 
drank  an  enormous  quantity  of  tea,  rolled  in  his  arm- 
chair, talked  sententiously,  pronounced  dogmatically,  and 
was   considered   a   second  Dr.   Johnson;    another,   who 

happened  to  be  a  curate,  uttered  coarse  jokes,  wrote 

160 


TEE  POOR-DEVIL  AXTTHOR,  161 

doggerel  rlijmes,  and  was  the  Swift  of  our  association. 
Thus  we  had  also  our  Popes,  and  Goldsmiths,  and  Ad- 
disons;  and  a  blue-stocking  lady,  whose  drawing-room 
we  frequented,  who  corresponded  about  nothing  with  all 
the  world,  and  wrote  letters  with  the  stiffness  and  for- 
mality of  a  printed  book,  was  cried  up  as  another  Mrs. 
Montagu.  I  was,  by  common  consent,  the  juvenile 
prodigy,  the  poetical  youth,  the  great  genius,  the  pride 
and  hope  of  the  village,  through  whom  it  was  to  become 
one  day  as  celebrated  as  Stratford-on-Avon. 

My  father  died,  and  left  me  his  blessing  and  his  busi- 
ness. His  blessing  brought  no  money  into  my  pocket ; 
and  as  to  his  business,  it  soon  deserted  me ;  for  I  was 
busy  writing  poetry,  and  could  not  attend  to  law,  and 
my  clients,  though  they  had  great  respect  for  my  talents, 
had  no  faith  in  a  poetical  attorney. 

I  lost  my  business,  therefore,  spent  my  money,  and 
finished  my  poem.  It  was  the  Pleasures  of  Melancholy, 
and  was  cried  up  to  the  skies  by  the' whole  circle.  The 
Pleasures  of  Imagination,  the  Pleasures  of  Hope,  and 
the  Pleasures  of  Memory,  though  each  had  placed  its 
author  in  the  first  rank  of  poets,  were  blank  prose  in 
comparison.  Our  Mrs.  Montagu  would  cry  over  it  from 
beginning  to  end.  It  was  pronounced  by  all  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Literary,  Scientific,  and  Philosophical  So- 
ciety the  greatest  poem  of  the  age,  and  all  anticipated 
the  noise  it  would  make  in  the  great  world.  There  was 
not  a  doubt  but  the  London  booksellers  would  be  mad 


162  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

after  it;  and  the  only  fear  of  my  friends  was,  that  I 
would  make  a  sacrifice  by  selling  it  too  cheap.  Every 
time  they  talked  the  matter  over,  they  increased  the 
price.  They  reckoned  up  the  great  sums  given  for  the 
poems  of  certain  popular  writers,  and  determined  that 
mine  was  worth  more  than  all  put  together,  and  ought  to 
be  paid  for  accordingly.  For  my  part,  I  was  modest  in 
my  expectations,  and  determined  that  I  would  be  satis- 
fied with  a  thousand  guineas.  So  I  put  my  poem  in  my 
pocket,  and  set  off  for  London. 

My  journey  was  joyous.  My  heart  was  light  as  my 
purse,  and  my  head  full  of  anticipations  of  fame  and  for- 
tune. "With  what  swelling  pride  did  I  cast  my  eyes 
upon  old  London  from  the  heights  of  Highgate  !  I  was 
like  a  general,  looking  down  upon  a  place  he  expects  to 
conquer.  The  great  metropolis  lay  stretched  before  me, 
buried  under  a  home-made  cloud  of  murky  smoke,  that 
wrapped  it  from  the  brightness  of  a  sunny  day,  and 
formed  for  it  a  kind  of  artificial  bad  weather.  At  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  away  to  the  west,  the  smoke  grad- 
ually decreased  until  all  was  clear  and  sunny,  and  the 
view  stretched  uninterrupted  to  the  blue  line  of  the 
Kentish  hills. 

My  eye  turned  fondly  to  where  the  mighty  cupola  of 
St.  Paul's  swelled  dimly  through  this  misty  chaos,  and  I 
pictured  to  myself  the  solemn  realm  of  learning  that  lies 
about  its  base.  How  soon  should  the  Pleasures  of 
Melancholy  throw  this  world  of  booksellers  and  printers 


TEE  POOR-DEVIL  AUTHOR.  163 

into  a  bustle  of  business  and  delight !  How  soon  should 
I  hear  my  name  repeated  by  printers'  devils  throughout 
Paternoster  Kow,  and  Angel  Court,  and  Ave  Maria  Lane, 
until  Amen  Corner  should  echo  back  the  sound ! 

Arrived  in  town,  I  repaired  at  once  to  the  most  fash- 
ionable publisher.  Every  new  author  patronizes  him  of 
course.  In  fact,  it  had  been  determined  in  the  village 
circle  that  he  should  be  the  fortunate  man.  I  cannot  tell 
you  how  vain-gloriously  I  walked  the  streets.  My  head 
was  in  the  clouds.  I  felt  the  airs  of  heaven  playing 
about  it,  and  fancied  it  already  encircled  by  a  halo  of 
literary  glory.  As  I  passed  by  the  windows  of  book- 
shops, I  anticipated  the  time  when  my  work  would  be 
shining  among  the  hot-pressed  wonders  of  the  day ;  and 
my  face,  scratched  on  copper,  or  cut  on  wood,  figuring  in 
fellowship  with  those  of  Scott,  and  Byron,  and  Moore. 

When  I  applied  at  the  publisher's  house,  there  was 
something  in  the  loftiness  of  my  air,  and  the  dinginess  of 
my  dress,  that  struck  the  clerks  with  reverence.  They 
doubtless  took  me  for  some  person  of  consequence ;  prob- 
ably a  digger  of  Greek  roots,  or  a  penetrator  of  pyra- 
mids. A  proud  man  in  a  dirty  shirt  is  always  an  impos- 
ing character  in  the  world  of  letters ;  one  must  feel 
intellectually  secure  before  he  can  venture  to  dress  shab- 
bily ;  none  but  a  great  genius,  or  a  great  scholar,  dares 
to  be  dirty;  so  I  was  ushered  at  once  to  the  sanctum 
sanctorum  of  this  high-priest  of  Minerva. 

The  publishing  of  books  is  a  very  different  affair  now- 


164  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

adays  from  what  it  was  in  the  time  of  Bernard  Lintot. 
I  found  the  publisher  a  fashionably  dressed  man,  in  an 
elegant  drawing-room,  furnished  with  sofas,  and  portraits 
of  celebrated  authors,  and  eases  of  splendidly  bound 
books.  He  was  writing  letters  at  an  elegant  table.  This 
was  transacting  business  in  style.  The  place  seemed 
suited  to  the  magnificent  publications  that  issued  from 
it.  I  rejoiced  a,t  the  choice  I  had  made  of  a  publisher, 
for  I  always  liked  to  encourage  men  of  taste  and  spirit. 

I  stepped  up  to  the  table  with  the  lofty  poetical  port 
I  had  been  accustomed  to  maintain  in  our  village  circle  ; 
though  I  threw  in  it  something  of  a  patronizing  air,  such 
as  one  feels  when  about  to  make  a  man's  fortune.  The 
publisher  paused  with  his  pen  in  hand,  and  seemed  wait- 
ing in  mute  suspense  to  know  what  was  to  be  announced 
by  so  singular  an  apparition. 

I  put  him  at  his  ease  in  a  moment,  for  I  felt  that  I  had 
but  to  come,  see,  and  conquer.  I  made  known  my  name, 
and  the  name  of  my  poem ;  produced  my  precious  roll  of 
blotted  manuscript ;  laid  it  on  the  table  with  an  empha- 
sis ;  and  told  him  at  once,  to  save  time,  and  come  directly 
to  the  point,  the  price  was  one  thousand  guineas. 

I  had  given  him  no  time  to  speak,  nor  did  he  seem  so 
inclined.  He  continued  looking  at  me  for  a  moment 
with  an  air  of  whimsical  perplexity ;  scanned  me  from 
head  to  foot;  looked  down  at  the  manuscript,  then  up 
again  at  me,  then  pointed  to  a  chair ;  and  whistling 
softly  to  himself,  went  on  writing  his  letter. 


THE  POOR-DEVIL  AXITHOB.  165 

I  sat  for  some  time  waiting  his  reply,  supposing  lie 
was  making  up  his  mind ;  but  he  only  paused  occasion- 
ally to  take  a  fresh  dip  of  ink,  to  stroke  his  chin,  or  the 
tip  of  his  nose,  and  then  resumed  his  writing.  It  was 
evident  his  mind  was  intently  occupied  upon  some  other 
subject ;  but  I  had  no  idea  that  any  other  subject  could 
be  attended  to,  and  my  poem  lie  unnoticed  on  the  table. 
I  had  supposed  that  everything  would  make  way  for  the 
"  Pleasures  of  Melancholy." 

My  gorge  at  length  rose  within  me.  I  took  up  my 
manuscript,  thrust  it  into  my  pocket,  and  walked  out  of 
the  room ;  making  some  noise  as  I  went  out,  to  let  my 
departure  be  heard.  The  publisher,  however,  was  too 
much  buried  in  minor  concerns  to  notice  it.  I  was  suf- 
fered to  walk  down-stairs  without  being  called  back.  I 
sallied  forth  into  the  street,  but  no  clerk  was  sent  after 
me ;  nor  did  the  publisher  call  after  me  from  the  draw- 
ing-room window.  I  have  been  told  since,  that  he  con- 
sidered me  either  a  madman  or  a  fool.  I  leave  you  to 
judge  how  much  he  was  in  the  wrong  in  his  opinion. 

"When  I  turned  the  corner,  my  crest  fell.  I  cooled 
down  in  my  pride  and  my  expectations,  and  reduced  my 
terms  with  the  next  bookseller  to  whom  I  applied.  I 
had  no  better  success ;  nor  with  a  third,  nor  with  a 
fourth.  I  then  desired  the  booksellers  to  make  an  offer 
themselves ;  but  the  deuce  an  offer  would  they  make. 
They  told  me  poetry  was  a  mere  drug ;  everybody  wrote 
poetry ;  the  market  was  overstocked  with  it.     And  then 


166  TALE8  OF  A  TRAVELLEB. 

they  said,  the  title  of  my  poem  was  not  taking;  that 
pleasures  of  all  kinds  were  worn  threadbare,  nothing  but 
horrors  did  nowadays,  and  even  those  were  almost  worn 
out.  Tales  of  Pirates,  Bobbers,  and  bloody  Turks,  might 
answer  tolerably  well ;  but  then  they  must  come  from 
some  established,  well-known  name,  or  the  public  would 
not  look  at  them. 

At  last  I  offered  to  leave  my  poem  with  a  bookseller  to 
read  it,  and  judge  for  himself.     "  Why,  really,  my  dear 

Mr. a — a — I  forget  your  name,"  said  he,  casting  his 

eye  at  my  rusty  coat  and  shabby  gaiters,  "  really,  sir,  we 
are  so  pressed  with  business  just  now,  and  have  so  many 
manuscripts  on  hand  to  read,  that  we  have  not  time  to 
look  at  any  new  productions  ;  but  if  you  can  call  again  in 
a  week  or  two,  or  say  the  middle  of  next  month,  we  may 
be  able  to  look  over  your  writings,  and  give  you  an  an- 
swer. Don't  forget,  the  month  after  next ;  good  morning, 
sir;  happy  to  see  you  any  time  you  are  passing  this 
way."  So  saying,  he  bowed  me  out  in  the  ci vilest  way 
imaginable.  In  short,  sir,  instead  of  an  eager  competi- 
tion to  secure  my  poem,  I  could  not  even  get  it  read !  In 
the  meantime  I  was  harassed  by  letters  from  my  friends, 
wanting  to  know  when  the  work  was  to  appear ;  who  was 
to  be  my  publisher ;  and  above  all  things,  warning  me 
not  to  let  it  go  too  cheap. 

There  was  but  one  alternative  left.  I  determined  to 
publish  the  poem  myself ;  and  to  have  my  triumph  over 
the  booksellers  when  it  should  become  the  fashion  of  the 


THE  POOR-DEVIL  AUTHOR.  167 

day.  I  accordingly  piiblislied  tlie  "  Pleasures  of  Melan- 
choly,"— and  ruined  myself.  Excepting  the  copies  sent 
to  the  reviews,  and  to  my  friends  in  the  country,  not  one, 
I  believe,  ever  left  the  bookseller's  warehouse.  The 
printer's  bill  drained  my  purse  ;  and  the  only  notice  that 
was  taken  of  my  work  was  contained  in  the  advertise- 
ments paid  for  by  myself. 

I  could  have  borne  all  this,  and  have  attributed  it,  as 
usual,  to  the  mismanagement  of  the  publisher,  or  the 
want  of  taste  in  the  public ;  and  could  have  made  the 
usual  appeal  to  posterity ;  but  my  village  friends  would 
not  let  me  rest  in  quiet.  They  were  picturing  me  to 
themselves  feasting  with  the  great,  communing  with  the 
literary,  and  in  the  high  career  of  fortune  and  renown. 
Every  little  while,  some  one  would  call  on  me  with  a 
letter  of  introduction  from  the  village  circle,  recommend- 
ing him  to  my  attentions,  and  requesting  that  I  would 
make  him  known  in  society ;  with  a  hint,  that  an  intro- 
duction to  a  celebrated  literary  nobleman  would  be  ex- 
tremely agreeable.  I  determined,  therefore,  to  change 
my  lodgings,  drop  my  correspondence,  and  disappear 
altogether  from  the  view  of  my  village  admirers.  Be- 
sides, I  was  anxious  to  make  one  more  poetic  attempt. 
I  was  by  no  means  disheartened  by  the  failure  of  my 
first.  My  poem  was  evidently  too  didactic.  The  public 
was  wise  enough.  It  no  longer  read  for  instruction. 
"They  want  horrors,  do  they?"  said  I:  "I'faith!  then 
they  shall  have  enough  of  them."     So  I  looked  out  for 


168  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

some  quiet,  retired  place,  where  I  might  be  out  of  the 
reach  of  mj  friends,  and  have  leisure  to  cook  up  some 
delectable  dish  of  poetical  "hell-broth." 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  a  place  to  my  mind, 
when  chance  threw  me  in  the  way  of  Canonbury  Castle. 
It  is  an  ancient  brick  tower,  hard  by  "  merry  Islington  "  ; 
the  remains  of  a  hunting-seat  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  where 
she  took  the  pleasure  of  the  country  when  the  neighbor- 
hood was  all  woodland.  What  gave  it  particular  interest 
in  my  eyes  was  the  circumstance  that  it  had  been  the 
residence  of  a  poet. 

It  was  here  Goldsmith  resided  when  he  wrote  his 
"Deserted  Village."  I  was  shown  the  very  apartment. 
It  was  a  relic  of  the  original  style  of  the  castle,  with 
panelled  wainscots  and  Gothic  windows.  I  was  pleased 
with  its  air  of  antiquity,  and  with  its  having  been  the 
residence  of  poor  Goldy. 

"  Goldsmith  was  a  pretty  poet,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  a 
very  pretty  poet,  though  rather  of  the  old  school.  He  did 
not  think  and  feel  so  strongly  as  is  the  fashion  nowadays ; 
but  had  he  lived  in  these  times  of  hot  hearts  and  hot 
heads,  he  would  no  doubt  have  written  quite  differently." 

In  a  few  days  I  was  quietly  established  in  my  new 
quarters ;  my  books  all  arranged ;  my  writing-desk  placed 
by  a  window  looking  out  into  the  fields  ;  and  I  felt  as 
snug  as  Eobinson  Crusoe,  when  he  had  finished  his 
bower.  For  several  days  I  enjoyed  all  the  novelty  of  the 
change  and  the  charms  which  grace  new  lodgings,  before 


TEE  POOR-DEVIL  A  UTEOR.  169 

one  has  found  out  their  defects.  I  rambled  about  the 
fields  where  I  fancied  Goldsmith  had  rambled.  I  ex- 
plored merry  Islington  ;  ate  my  solitary  dinner  at  the 
Black  Bull,  which,  according  to  tradition,  was  a  country- 
seat  of  Sir  "Walter  Kaleigh  ;  and  would  sit  and  sip  my 
wine,  and  muse  on  old  times,  in  a  quaint  old  room,  where 
many  a  council  had  been  held. 

All  this  did  very  well  for  a  few  days.  I  was  stimulated 
by  novelty ;  inspired  by  the  associations  awakened  in  my 
mind  by  these  curious  haunts  ;  and  began  to  think  I  felt 
the  spirit  of  composition  stirring  within  me.  But  Sun- 
day came,  and  with  it  the  whole  city  world,  swarming 
about  Canonbury  Castle.  I  could  not  open  my  window 
but  I  was  stunned  with  shouts  and  noises  from  the 
cricket-ground ;  the  late  quiet  road  beneath  my  window 
was  alive  with  the  tread  of  feet  and  clack  of  tongues; 
and,  to  complete  my  misery,  I  found  that  my  quiet  retreat 
was  absolutely  a  "  show-house,"  the  tower  and  its  con- 
tents being  shown  to  strangers  at  sixpence  a  head. 

There  was  a  perpetual  tramping  up-stairs  of  citizens 
and  their  families,  to  look  about  the  country  from  the 
top  of  the  tower,  and  to  take  a  peep  at  the  city  through 
the  telescope,  to  try  if  they  could  discern  their  own 
chimneys.  And  then,  in  the  midst  of  a  vein  of  thought, 
or  a  moment  of  inspiration,  I  was  interrupted,  and  all  my 
ideas  put  to  flight,  by  my  intolerable  landlady's  tapping 
at  the  door,  and  asking  me  if  I  would  "  just  please  to  let 
a  lady  and   gentleman  come   in,  to  take  a  look  at  Mr. 


170  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

Goldsmith's  room."  If  you  know  anything  of  what  an 
author's  study  is,  and  what  an  author  is  himself,  you 
must  know  that  there  was  no  standing  this.  I  put  posi- 
tive interdict  on  my  room's  being  exhibited ;  but  then  it 
was  shown  when  I  was  absent,  and  my  papers  put  in 
confusion ;  and,  on  returning  home  one  day,  I  absolutely 
found  a  cursed  tradesman  and  his  daughters  gaping  over 
my  manuscripts,  and  my  landlady  in  a  panic  at  my 
appearance.  I  tried  to  make  out  a  little  longer,  by 
taking  the  key  in  my  pocket ;  but  it  would  not  do.  I 
overheard  mine  hostess  one  day  telling  some  of  her 
customers  on  the  stairs,  that  the  room  was  occupied 
by  an  author,  who  was  always  in  a  tantrum  if  inter- 
rupted ;  and  I  immediately  perceived,  by  a  slight  noise 
at  the  door,  that  they  were  peeping  at  me  through  the 
key-hole.  By  the  head  of  Apollo,  but  this  was  quite  too 
much !  With  all  my  eagerness  for  fame,  and  my  ambi- 
tion of  the  stare  of  the  million,  I  had  no  idea  of  being 
exhibited  by  retail,  at  sixpence  a  head,  and  that  through 
a  key-hole.  So  I  bid  adieu  to  Canonbury  Castle,  merry 
Islington,  and  the  haunts  of  poor  Goldsmith,  without 
having  advanced  a  single  line  in  my  labors. 

My  next  quarters  were  at  a  small,  whitewashed  coi>- 
tage,  which  stands  not  far  from  Hampstead,  just  on  the 
brow  of  a  hill;  looking  over  Chalk  Farm  and  Camden 
Town,  remarkable  for  the  rival  houses  of  Mother  Eed 
Cap  and  Mother  Black  Cap;  and  so  across  CrackskuU 
Common  to  the  distant  city. 


THE  POOR-DEVIL  AUTHOB.  171 

The  cottage  was  in  nowise  remarkable  in  itself ;  but  I 
regarded  it  with  reverence,  for  it  had  been  the  asylum  of 
a  persecuted  author.  Hither  poor  Steele  had  retreated, 
and  laid  perdu,  when  persecuted  by  creditors  and 
bailiffs — those  immemorial  plagues  of  authors  and  free- 
spirited  gentlemen ;  and  here  he  had  written  many  num- 
bers of  the  "  Spectator."  It  was  hence,  too,  that  he  had 
dispatched  those  little  notes  to  his  lady,  so  full  of  affec- 
tion and  whimsicality,  in  which  the  fond  husband,  the 
careless  gentleman,  and  the  shifting  spendthrift,  were  so 
oddly  blended.  I  thought,  as  I  first  eyed  the  window 
of  his  apartment,  that  I  could  sit  within  it  and  write 
volumes. 

No  such  thing !  It  was  haymaking  season,  and,  as  ill 
luck  would  have  it,  immediately  opposite  the  cottage 
was  a  little  ale-house,  with  the  sign  of  the  Load  of  Hay. 
Whether  it  was  there  in  Steele's  time,  I  cannot  say ;  but 
it  set  all  attempts  at  conception  or  inspiration  at  de- 
fiance. It  was  the  resort  of  all  the  Irish  haymakers  who 
mow  the  broad  fields  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  of  dro- 
vers and  teamsters  who  travel  that  road.  Here  they 
would  gather  in  the  endless  summer  twilight,  or  by  the 
light  of  the  harvest  moon,  and  sit  around  a  table  at  the 
door ;  and  tipple,  and  laugh,  and  quarrel,  and  fight,  and 
sing  drowsy  songs,  and  dawdle  away  the  hours,  until  the 
deep  solemn  notes  of  St.  Paul's  clock  would  warn  the 
varlets  home. 

In  the  daytime  I  was  less  able  to  write.     It  was  broad 


172  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

summer.  The  haymakers  were  at  work  in  the  fields,  and 
the  perfume  of  the  new-mown  hay  brought  with  it  the 
recollection  of  my  native  fields.  So  instead  of  remaining 
in  my  room  to  write,  I  went  wandering  about  Primrose 
Hill,  and  Hampstead  Heights,  and  Shepherd's  Fields, 
and  all  those  Arcadian  scenes  so  celebrated  by  London 
bards.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  many  delicious  hours  I 
have  passed,  lying  on  the  cocks  of  the  new-mown  hay,  on 
the  pleasant  slopes  of  some  of  those  hills,  inhaling  the 
fragrance  of  the  fields,  while  the  summer-fly  buzzed 
about  me,  or  the  grasshopper  leaped  into  my  bosom ; 
and  how  I  have  gazed  with  half-shut  eye  upon  the 
smoky  mass  of  London,  and  listened  to  the  distant  sound 
of  its  population,  and  pitied  the  poor  sons  of  earth, 
toiling  in  its  bowels,  like  Gnomes  in  the  "dark  gold- 
mines." 

People  may  say  what  they  please  about  cockney  pas- 
torals, but,  after  all,  there  is  a  vast  deal  of  rural  beauty 
about  the  western  vicinity  of  London ;  and  any  one  that 
has  looked  down  upon  the  valley  of  the  West  End,  with 
its  soft  bosom  of  green  pasturage  lying  open  to  the  south, 
and  dotted  with  cattle ;  the  steeple  of  Hampstead  rising 
among  rich  groves  on  the  brow  of  the  hill ;  and  the 
learned  height  of  Harrow  in  the  distance ;  will  confess 
that  never  has  he  seen  a  more  absolutely  rural  landscape 
in  the  vicinity  of  a  great  metropolis. 

Still,  however,  I  found  myself  not  a  whit  the  better  off 
for  my  frequent  change  of  lodgings ;  and  I  began  to  dis- 


THE  POOB-DEYIL  AUTHOR.  173 

cover,  that  in  literature,  as  in  trade,  tlie  old  proverb 
holds  good,  "a  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss." 

The  tranquil  beauty  of  the  country  played  the  very 
vengeance  with  me.  I  could  not  mount  my  fancy  into 
the  termagant  vein.  I  could  not  conceive,  amidst  the 
smiling  landscape,  a  scene  of  blood  and  murder ;  and  the 
smug  citizens  in  breeches  and  gaiters  put  all  ideas  of  he- 
roes and  bandits  out  of  my  brain.  I  could  think  of  noth- 
ing but  dulcet  subjects,  "the  Pleasures  of  Spring" — 
"  the  Pleasures  of  Solitude  " — "  the  Pleasures  of  Tran- 
quillity"— "the  Pleasures  of  Sentiment" — nothing  but 
pleasures ;  and  I  had  the  painful  experience  of  "  the 
Pleasures  of  Melancholy"  too  strongly  in  my  recollec- 
tion to  be  beguiled  by  them. 

Chance  at  length  befriended  me.  I  had  frequently,  in 
my  ramblings,  loitered  about  Hampstead  Hill,  which  is  a 
kind  of  Parnassus  of  the  metropolis.  At  such  times  I 
occasionally  took  my  dinner  at  Jack  Straw's  Castle.  It  is 
a  country  inn  so  named ;  the  very  spot  where  that  noto- 
rious rebel  and  his  followers  held  their  council  of  war. 
It  is  a  favorite  resort  of  citizens  wheii  rurally  inclined,  as 
it  commands  fine  fresh  air,  and  a  good  view  of  the  city. 
I  sat  one  day  in  the  public  room  of  this  inn,  ruminating 
over  a  beefsteak  and  a  pint  of  porter,  when  my  imagina- 
tion kindled  up  with  ancient  and  heroic  images.  I  had 
long  wanted  a  theme  and  a  hero ;  both  suddenly  broke 
upon  my  mind.  I  determined  to  write  a  poem  on  the 
history  of  Jack  Straw.    I  was  so  full  of  the  subject,  that  I 


174  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLEB. 

was  fearful  of  being  anticipated.  I  wondered  that  none 
of  the  poets  of  the  day  in  their  search  after  ruffian 
heroes,  had  never  thought  of  Jack  Straw.  I  went  to  work 
pell-mell,  blotted  several  sheets  of  paper  with  choice 
floating  thoughts,  and  battles,  and  descriptions,  to  be 
ready  at  a  moment's  warning.  In  a  few  days'  time  I 
sketched  out  the  skeleton  of  my  poem,  and  nothing  was 
wanting  but  to  give  it  flesh  and  blood.  I  used  to  take 
my  manuscript  and  stroll  about  Caen  Wood,  and  read 
aloud ;  and  would  dine  at  the  Castle,  by  way  of  keeping 
up  the  vein  of  thought. 

I  was  there  one  day,  at  rather  a  late  hour,  in  the  public 
room.  There  was  no  other  company  but  one  man,  who 
sat  enjoying  his  pint  of  porter  at  the  window,  and  notic- 
ing the  passers-by.  He  was  dressed  in  a  green  shoot- 
ing-coat. His  countenance  was  strongly  marked  :  he  had 
a  hooked  nose ;  a  romantic  eye,  excepting  that  it  had 
something  of  a  squint;  and  altogether,  as  I  thought,  a 
poetical  style  of  head.  I  was  quite  taken  with  the  man, 
for  you  must  know  I  am  a  little  of  a  physiognomist;  I  set 
him  down  at  once  for  either  a  poet  or  a  philosopher. 

As  I  like  to  make  new  acquaintances,  considering  every 
man  a  volume  of  human  nature,  I  soon  fell  into  conver- 
sation with  the  stranger,  who,  I  was  pleased  to  find,  was 
by  no  means  difficult  of  access.  After  I  had  dined,  I 
joined  him  at  the  window,  and  we  became  so  sociable 
that  I  proposed  a  bottle  of  wine  together,  to  which  he 
most  cheerfully  assented. 


THE  POOR-DEVIL  AUTHOE.  I75 

I  was  too  full  of  my  poem  to  keep  long  quiet  on  tlie 
subject,  and  began  to  talk  about  the  origin  of  the  tavern, 
and  the  history  of  Jack  Straw.  I  found  my  new  acquaint- 
ance to  be  perfectly  at  home  on  the  topic,  and  to  jump 
exactly  with  my  humor  in  every  respect.  I  became  ele- 
vated by  the  wine  and  the  conversation.  In  the  fulness 
of  an  author's  feelings,  I  told  him  of  my  projected  poem, 
and  repeated  some  passages,  and  he  was  in  raptures.  He 
was  evidently  of  a  strong  poetical  turn. 

"  KSir,"  said  he,  filling  my  glass  at  the  same  time,  "  our 
poets  don't  look  at  home.  I  don't  see  why  we  need  go 
out  of  old  England  for  robbers  and  rebels  to  write  about. 
I  like  your  Jack  Straw,  sir, — he's  a  home-made  hero.  I 
like  him,  sir — I  like  him  exceedingly.  He's  English  to 
the  backbone  —  damme  —  Give  me  honest  old  England 
after  all !     Them's  my  sentiments,  sir." 

"  I  honor  your  sentiment,"  cried  I,  zealously ;  "  it  is 
exactly  my  own.  An  English  ruffian  is  as  good  a  ruffian 
for  poetry  as  any  in  Italy,  or  Germany,  or  the  Archipel- 
ago ;  but  it  is  hard  to  make  our  poets  think  so." 

"  More  shame  for  them ! "  replied'  the  man  in  green. 
"  What  a  plague  would  they  have  ?  "What  have  we  to  do 
with  their  Archipelagos  of  Italy  and  Germany  ?  Haven't 
we  heaths  and  commons  and  highways  on  our  own  little 
island — ay,  and  stout  fellows  to  pad  the  hoof  over  them 
too?  Stick  to  home,  I  say, — them's  my  sentiments. — 
Come,  sir,  my  service  to  you — I  agree  with  you  per- 
fectly." 


176  TALE8  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

"Poets,  in  old  times,  had  right  notions  on  this  sub- 
ject," continued  I ;  "  witness  the  fine  old  ballads  about 
Eobin  Hood,  Allan  a' Dale,  and  other  stanch  blades  of 
yore." 

"Eight,  sir,  right,"  interrupted  he  ;  "  Eobin  Hood  !  he 
was  the  lad  to  cry  stand  !  to  a  man,  and  never  to  flinch." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  I,  "  they  had  famous  bands  of  robbers 
in  the  good  old  times  ;  those  were  glorious  poetical  days. 
The  merry  crew  of  Sherwood  Forest,  who  led  such  a 
roving  picturesque  life,  'under  the  greenwood  tree.'  I 
have  often  wished  to  visit  their  haunts,  and  tread  the 
scenes  of  the  exploits  of  Friar  Tuck,  and  Clymm  of  the 
Clough,  and  Sir  William  of  Cloudeslie." 

"Nay,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  green,  "we  have  had 
several  very  pretty  gangs  since  that  day.  Those  gallant 
dogs  that  kept  about  the  great  heaths  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  London,  about  Bagshot,  and  Hounslow,  and 
Blackheath,  for  instance.  Come,  sir,  my  service  to  you. 
Tou  don't  drink." 

"  I  suppose,"  cried  I,  emptying  my  glass,  "  I  suppose 
you  have  heard  of  the  famous  Turpin,  who  was  born  in 
this  very  village  of  Hampstead,  and  who  used  to  lurk 
with  his  gang  in  Epping  Forest  about  a  hundred  years 
since  .'* 

"  Have  I  ?  "  cried  he,  "  to  be  sure  I  have !  A  hearty 
old  blade  that.  Sound  as  pitch.  Old  Turpentine !  as  we 
used  to  call  him.     A  famous  fine  fellow,  sir." 

"  "Well,  sir,"  continued  I,   "  I  have   visited  Waltham 


DISCUSSION   BETWEEN   MR.    DRIBBLE   AND    HIS    FRIEND    IN    GREEN.       (p.    176). 


THE  POOR-DEVIL  AUTHOR.  177 

Abbey  and  Chingford  Churcli  merely  from  the  stories 
I  heard  when  a  boy  of  his  exploits  there,  and  I  have 
searched  Epping  Forest  for  the  cavern  where  he  used 
to  conceal  himself.  You  must  know,"  added  I,  "  that 
I  am  a  sort  of  amateur  of  highwaymen.  They  were 
dashing  daring  fellows :  the  best  apologies  that  we  had 
for  the  knights-errant  of  yore.  Ah,  sir!  the  country 
has  been  sinking  gradually  into  tameness  and  com- 
monplace. We  are  losing  the  old  English  spirit.  The 
bold  knights  of  the  Post  have  all  dwindled  down  into 
lurking  footpads,  and  sneaking  pickpockets  ;  there's  no 
such  thing  as  a  dashing,  gentleman-like  robbery  com- 
mitted nowadays  on  the  King's  highway  :  a  man  may  roll 
from  one  end  of  England  to  the  other  in  a  drowsy 
coach,  or  jingling  post-chaise,  without  any  other  adven- 
ture than  that  of  being  occasionally  overturned,  sleep- 
ing in  damp  sheets,  or  having  an  ill-cooked  dinner. 
We  hear  no  more  of  public  coaches  being  stopped  and 
robbed  by  a  well-mounted  gang  of  resolute  fellows, 
with  pistols  in  their  hands,  and  crapes  over  their  faces. 
What  a  pretty  poetical  incident  w^s  it,  for  example, 
in  domestic  life,  for  a  family-carriage,  on  its  way  to 
a  country-seat,  to  be  attacked  about  dark;  the  old  gen- 
tleman eased  of  his  purse  and  watch,  the  ladies  of 
their  necklaces  and  ear-rings,  by  a  politely  -  spoken 
highwayman  on  a  blood-mare,  who  afterwards  leaped 
the  hedge  and  galloped  across  the  country,  to  the 
admiration  of  Miss  Caroline,  the  daughter,  who  would 


178  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLEB. 

write  a  long  and  romantic  account  of  the  adyenture  to 
her  friend,  Miss  Juliana,  in  town.  Ah,  sir !  we  meet 
with  nothing  of  such  incidents  nowadays." 

"  That,  sir,"  said  my  companion,  taking  advantage  of  a 
pause,  when  I  stopped  to  recover  breath,  and  to  take  a 
glass  of  wine  which  he  had  just  poured  out,  *'  that,  sir, 
craving  your  pardon,  is  not  owing  to  any  want  of  old 
English  pluck.  It  is  the  effect  of  this  cursed  system  of 
banking.  People  do  not  travel  with  bags  of  gold  as  they 
did  formerly.  They  have  post-notes,  and  drafts  on  bank- 
ers. To  rob  a  coach  is  like  catching  a  crow,  where  you 
have  nothing  but  carrion  flesh  and  feathers  for  your  pains. 
But  a  coach  in  old  times,  sir,  was  as  rich  as  a  Spanish 
galleon.  It  turned  out  the  yellow  boys  bravely.  And  a 
private  carriage  was  a  cool  hundred  or  two  at  least." 

I  cannot  express  how  much  I  was  delighted  with  the 
sallies  of  my  new  acquaintance.  He  told  me  that  he 
often  frequented  the  Castle,  and  would  be  glad  to  know 
more  of  me  ;  and  I  proposed  myself  many  a  pleasant 
afternoon  with  him,  when  I  should  read  him  my  poem  as 
it  proceeded,  and  benefit  by  his  remarks ;  for  it  was  evi- 
dent he  had  the  true  poetical  feeling. 

"  Come,  sir,"  said  he,  pushing  the  bottle  :  "  Damme,  I 
like  you !  you're  a  man  after  my  own  heart.  I'm  cursed 
slow  in  making  new  acquaintances.  One  must  be  on  the 
reserve,  you  know.  But  when  I  meet  with  a  man  of  your 
kidney,  damme,  my  heart  jumps  at  once  to  him.  Them's 
my    sentiments,   sir.      Come,   sir,   here's    Jack    Straw's 


THE  POOR-DEVIL  AUTHOR  179 

health!  I  presume  one  can  drink  it  nowadays  without 
treason !  " 

*' With  all  my  heart,"  said  I,  gayly,  "and  Dick  Turpin's 
into  the  bargain  !  " 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  the  man  in  green,  "  those  are  the  kind 
of  men  for  poetry.  The  Newgate  Calendar,  sir!  the 
Newgate  Calendar  is  your  only  reading!  There's  the 
place  to  look  for  bold  deeds  and  dashing  fellows." 

We  were  so  much  pleased  with  each  other  that  we  sat 
until  a  late  houT.  I  insisted  on  paying  the  bill,  for  both 
my  purse  and  my  heart  were  full,  and  I  agreed  that  he 
should  pay  the  score  at  our  next  meeting.  As  the 
coaches  had  all  gone  that  run  between  Hampstead  and 
London,  we  had  to  return  on  foot.  He  was  so  delighted 
with  the  idea  of  my  poem,  that  he  could  talk  of  nothing 
else.  He  made  me  repeat  such  passages  as  I  could  re- 
member ;  and  though  I  did  it  in  a  very  mangled  manner, 
haying  a  wretched  memory,  yet  he  was  in  raptures. 

Every  now  and  then  he  would  break  out  with  some 
scrap  which  he  would  misquote  most  terribly,  would  rub 
his  hands  and  exclaim,  "By  Jupiter,  that's  fine,  that's 
noble !  Damme,  sir,  if  I  can  conceive  how  you  hit  upon 
such  ideas !  " 

I  must  confess  I  did  not  always  relish  his  misquota- 
tions, which  sometimes  made  absolute  nonsense  of  the 
passages ;  but  what  author  stands  upon  trifles  when  he  is 
praised? 

Never  had  I  spent  a  more  delightful  evening.     I  did 


180  TALES  OF  A    TRA  VELLER. 

not  perceive  how  the  time  flew.  I  could  not  bear  to 
separate,  but  continued  walking  on,  arm  in  arm,  with 
him,  past  my  lodgings,  through  Camden  Town,  and  across 
CrackskuU  Common,  talking  the  whole  way  about  my 
poem. 

When  we  were  half-way  across  the  common,  he  inter- 
rupted me  in  the  midst  of  a  quotation,  by  telling  me  that 
this  had  been  a  famous  place  for  footpads,  and  was  still 
occasionally  infested  by  them ;  and  that  a  man  had 
recently  been  shot  there  in  attempting  to  defend  himself. 
— "  The  more  fool  he  !  "  cried  I ;  "  a  man  is  an  idiot  to 
risk  life,  or  even  limb,  to  save  a  paltry  purse  of  money. 
It's  quite  a  different  case  from  that  of  a  duel,  where  one's 
honor  is  concerned.  For  my  part,"  added  I,  "  I  should 
never  think  of  making  resistance  against  one  of  those 
desperadoes." 

"  Say  you  so  ?  "  cried  my  friend  in  green,  turning  sud- 
denly upon  me,  and  putting  a  pistol  to  my  breast ;  "  why, 
then,  have  at  you,  my  lad ! — come — disburse !  empty  1 
unsack ! " 

In  a  word,  I  found  that  the  muse  had  played  me  an- 
other of  her  tricks,  and  had  betrayed  me  into  the  hands 
of  a  footpad.  There  was  no  time  to  parley ;  he  made  me 
turn  my  pockets  inside  out ;  and  hearing  the  sound  of 
distant  footsteps,  he  made  one  fell  swoop  upon  purse, 
watch,  and  all ;  gave  me  a  thwack  on  my  unlucky  pate 
that  laid  me  sprawling  on  the  ground,  and  scampered 
away  with  his  booty. 


TEE  POOB-DEVIL  AVTBOR  181 

I  saw  no  more  of  my  friend  in  green  until  a  year  or  two 
afterwards ;  wlien  I  caught  sight  of  his  poetical  counte- 
nance among  a  crew  of  scapegraces  heavily  ironed,  who 
were  on  the  way  for  transportation.  He  recognized  me 
at  once,  tipped  me  an  impudent  wink,  and  asked  me  how 
I  came  on  with  the  history  of  Jack  Straw's  Castle. 

The  catastrophe  at  Crackskull  Common  put  an  end 
to  my  summer's  campaign.  I  was  cured  of  my  poetical 
enthusiasm  for  rebels,  robbers,  and  highwaymen.  I  was 
put  out  of  conceit  of  my  subject,  and,  what  was  worse,  I 
was  lightened  of  my  purse,  in  which  was  almost  every 
farthing  I  had  in  the  world.  So  I  abandoned  Sir  Eichard 
Steele's  cottage  in  despair,  and  crept  into  less  celebrated, 
though  no  less  poetical  and  airy  lodgings  in  a  garret  in 
town. 

I  now  determined  to  cultivate  the  society  of  the  liter- 
ary, and  to  enroll  myself  in  the  fraternity  of  authorship. 
It  is  by  the  constant  collision  of  mind,  thought  I,  that 
authors  strike  out  the  sparks  of  genius,  and  kindle  up 
with  glorious  conceptions.  Poetry  is  evidently  a  conta- 
gious complaint.  I  will  keep  company  with  poets  ;  who 
knows  but  I  may  catch  it  as  others  have  done  ? 

I  found  no  difficulty  in  making  a  circle  of  literary  ac- 
quaintances, not  having  the  sin  of  success  lying  at  my 
door :  indeed  the  failure  of  my  poem  was  a  kind  of  recom- 
mendation to  their  favor.  It  is  true  my  new  friends  were 
not  of  the  most  brilliant  names  in  literature ;  but  then  if 
you  would  take  their  words  for  it,  they  were  like  the 


182  TALES  OF  A   TBAVELLEB. 

prophets  of  old,  men  of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy ; 
and  who  were  to  live  in  future  ages,  when  the  ephemeral 
favorites  of  the  day  should  be  forgotten. 

I  soon  discovered,  however,  that  the  more  I  mingled  in 
literary  society,  the  less  I  felt  capable  of  writing ;  thaii 
poetry  was  not  so  catching  as  I  imagined ;  and  that  in. 
familiar  life  there  was  often  nothing  less  poetical  than  a 
poet.  Besides,  I  wanted  the  esprit  du  corps  to  turn  these 
literary  fellowships  to  any  account.  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  enlist  in  any  particular  sect.  I  saw  something 
to  like  in  them  all,  but  found  that  would  never  do,  for 
that  the  tacit  condition  on  which  a  man  enters  into  one 
of  these  sects  is,  that  he  abuses  all  the  rest. 

I  perceived  that  there  were  little  knots  of  authors  who 
lived  with,  and  for,  and  by  one  another.  They  consid- 
ered themselves  the  salt  of  the  earth.  They  fostered  and 
kept  up  a  conventional  vein  of  thinking  and  talking,  and 
joking  on  all  subjects ;  and  they  cried  each  other  up  to 
the  skies.  Each  sect  had  its  particular  creed;  and  set 
up  certain  authors  as  divinities,  and  fell  down  and  wor- 
shipped them;  and  considered  every  one  who  did  not 
worship  them,  or  who  worshipped  any  other,  as  a  here- 
tic, and  an  infidel. 

In  quoting  the  writers  of  the  day,  I  generally  found 
them  extolling  names  of  which  I  had  scarcely  heard,  and 
talking  slightingly  of  others  who  were  the  favorites  of 
the  public.  If  I  mentioned  any  recent  work  from  the 
pen  of  a  first-rate  author,  they  had  not  read  it ;  they  had 


TEE  POOR-DEVIL  AUTHOR.  183 

not  time  to  read  all  that  was  spawned  from  the  press ; 
he  wrote  too  much  to  write  well ; — and  then  they  would 
break  out  into  raptures  about  some  Mr.  Timson,  or  Tom- 
son,  or  Jackson,  whose  works  were  neglected  at  the  pres- 
ent day,  but  who  was  to  be  the  wonder  and  delight  of 
posterity !  Alas !  what  heavy  debts  is  this  neglectful 
world  daily  accumulating  on  the  shoulders  of  poor  pos- 
terity ! 

But,  above  all,  it  was  edifying  to  hear  with  what  con- 
tempt they  would  talk  of  the  great.  Ye  gods !  how  im- 
measurably the  great  are  despised  by  the  small  fry  of 
literature !  It  is  true,  an  exception  was  now  and  then 
made  of  some  nobleman,  with  whom,  perhaps,  they  had 
casually  shaken  hands  at  an  election,  or  hob  or  nobbed 
at  a  public  dinner,  and  was  pronounced  a  "  devilish  good 
fellow,"  and  "no  humbug";  but,  in  general,  it  was 
enough  for  a  man  to  have  a  title,  to  be  the  object  of  their 
sovereign  disdain :  you  have  no  idea  how  poetically  and 
philosophically  they  would  talk  of  nobility. 

For  my  part,  this  affected  me  but  little ;  for  though  I 
had  no  bitterness  against  the  great,  and  did  not  think  the 
worse  of  a  man  for  having  innocently  been  born  to  a  title, 
jet  I  did  not  feel  myself  at  present  called  upon  to  resent 
the  indignities  poured  upon  them  by  the  little.  But  the 
hostility  to  the  great  writers  of  the  day  went  sore  against 
the  grain  with  me.  I  could  not  enter  into  such  feuds, 
nor  participate  in  such  animosities.  I  had  not  become 
author  sufficiently  to  hate  other  authors.     I  could  still 


184  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

find  pleasure  in  the  novelties  of  the  press,  and  could  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  praise  a  contemporary,  even  though  he 
were  successful.  Indeed  I  was  miscellaneous  in  my  taste, 
and  could  not  confine  it  to  any  age  or  growth  of  writers. 
I  could  turn  with  delight  from  the  glowing  pages  of 
Byron  to  the  cool  and  polished  raillery  of  Pope;  and 
after  wandering  among  the  sacred  groves  of  "Paradise 
Lost,"  I  could  give  myself  up  to  voluptuous  abandonment 
in  the  enchanted  bowers  of  *^  Lalla  Eookh." 

"  I  would  have  my  authors,"  said  I,  "  as  various  as  my 
wines,  and,  in  relishing  the  strong  and  the  racy,  would 
never  decry  the  sparkling  and  exhilarating.  Port  and 
Sherry  are  excellent  standbys,  and  so  is  Madeira;  but 
Claret  and  Burgundy  may  be  drunk  now  and  then  with- 
out disparagement  to  one's  palate,  and  Champagne  is  a 
beverage  by  no  means  to  be  despised." 

Such  was  the  tirade  I  uttered  one  day  when  a  little 
flushed  with  ale  at  a  literary  club.  I  uttered  it,  too,  with 
something  of  a  flourish,  for  I  thought  my  simile  a  clever 
one.  Unluckily,  my  auditors  were  men  who  drank  beer 
and  hated  Pope ;  so  my  figure  about  wines  went  for 
nothing,  and  my  critical  toleration  was  looked  upon  as 
downright  heterodoxy.  In  a  word,  I  soon  became  like  a 
freethinker  in  religion,  an  outlaw  from  every  sect,  and 
fair  game  for  all.  Such  are  the  melancholy  consequences 
of  not  hating  in  literature. 

I  see  you  are  growing  weary,  so  I  will  be  brief  with  the 
residue  of  my  literary  career.     I  will  not  detain  you  with 


THE  POOB-DEVIL  AUTHOR.  185 

a  detail  of  my  various  attempts  to  get  astride  of  Pegasus ; 
of  the  poems  I  have  written  which  were  never  printed, 
the  plays  I  have  presented  which  were  never  performed, 
and  the  tracts  I  have  published  which  were  never  pur- 
chased. It  seemed  as  if  booksellers,  managers,  and  the 
very  public,  had  entered  into  a  conspiracy  to  starve  me. 
Still  I  could  not  prevail  upon  myself  to  give  up  the  trial, 
nor  abandon  those  dreams  of  renown  in  which  I  had 
indulged.  How  should  I  be  able  to  look  the  literary 
circle  of  my  native  village  in  the  face,  if  I  were  so  com- 
pletely to  falsify  their  predictions?  For  some  time 
longer,  therefore,  I  continued  to  write  for  fame,  and  was, 
of  course,  the  most  miserable  dog  in  existence,  besides 
being  in  continual  risk  of  starvation.  I  accumulated 
loads  of  literary  treasure  on  my  shelves — loads  which 
were  to  be  treasures  to  posterity ;  but,  alas !  they  put  not 
a  penny  into  my  purse.  What  was  all  this  wealth  to  my 
present  necessities  ?  I  could  not  patch  my  elbows  with 
an  ode  ;  nor  satisfy  my  hunger  with  blank  verse.  "  Shall 
a  man  fill  his  belly  with  the  east  wind  ?  "  says  the  prov- 
erb.    He  may  as  well  do  so  as  with  poetry. 

I  have  many  a  time  strolled  sorrowfully  along,  with  a 
sad  heart  and  an  empty  stomach,  about  ^-^q  o'clock,  and 
looked  wistfully  down  the  areas  in  the  west  end  of  the 
town,  and  seen  through  the  kitchen-windows  the  fires 
gleaming,  and  the  joints  of  meat  turning  on  the  spits  and 
dripping  with  gravy,  and  the  cook-maids  beating  up 
puddings,  or  trussing  turkeys,  and  felt  for  the  moment 


186  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLEB. 

that  if  I- could  but  have  the  run  of  one  of  those  kitchens, 
Apollo  and  the  Muses  might  have  the  hungry  heights  of 
Parnassus  for  me.  Oh,  sir !  talk  of  meditations  among 
the  tombs, — they  are  nothing  so  melancholy  as  the 
meditations  of  a  poor  devil  without  penny  in  pouch, 
along  a  line  of  kitchen-windows  towards  dinner-time. 

At  length,  when  almost  reduced  to  famine  and  despair, 
the  idea  all  at  once  entered  my  head,  that  perhaps  I  was 
not  so  clever  a  fellow  as  the  village  and  myself  had  sup- 
posed. It  was  the  salvation  of  me.  The  moment  the 
idea  popped  into  my  brain  it  brought  conviction  and 
comfort  with  it.  I  awoke  as  from  a  dream  :  I  gave  up 
immortal  fame  to  those  who  could  live  on  air ;  took  to 
writing  for  mere  bread ;  and  have  ever  since  had  a  very 
tolerable  life  of  it.  There  is  no  man  of  letters  so  much  at 
his  ease,  sir,  as  he  who  has  no  character  to  gain  or  lose. 
I  had  to  train  myself  to  it  a  little,  and  to  clip  my  wings 
short  at  first,  or  they  would  have  carried  me  up  into 
poetry  in  spite  of  myself.  So  I  determined  to  begin  by 
the  opposite  extreme,  and  abandoning  the  higher  regions 
of  the  craft,  I  came  plump  down  to  the  lowest,  and 
turned  creeper. 

"  Creeper  !  and  pray  what  is  that  ?  '*  said  I. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  see  you  are  ignorant  of  the  language  of  the 
craft;  a  creeper  is  one  who  furnishes  the  newspapers 
with  paragraphs  at  so  much  a  line ;  and  who  goes  about 
in  quest  of  misfortunes ;  attends  the  Bow  Street  Office  ; 
the  Courts  of  Justice,  and  every  other  den  of  mischief 


TBE  POOR-DEVIL  AUTHOn.  187 

and  iniquity.  "We  are  paid  at  the  rate  of  a  penny  a  line, 
and  as  we  can  sell  the  same  paragraph  to  almost  every 
paper,  we  sometimes  pick  up  a  very  decent  day's  work. 
Now  and  then  the  Muse  is  unkind,  or  the  day  uncom- 
monly quiet,  and  then  we  rather  starve ;  and  sometimes 
the  unconscionable  editors  will  clip  our  paragraphs  when 
they  are  a  little  too  rhetorical,  and  snip  off  twopence  or 
threepence  at  a  go.  I  have  many  a  time  had  my  pot  of 
porter  snipped  off  my  dinner  in  this  way,  and  have  had 
to  dine  with  dry  lips.  However,  I  cannot  complain.  I 
rose  gradually  in  the  lower  ranks  of  the  craft,  and  am 
now,  I  think,  in  the  most  comfortable  region  of  litera- 
ture." 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  what  may  you  be  at  present  ?  " 
"  At  present,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  regular  job-writer,  and 
turn  my  hand  to  anything.  I  work  up  the  writings  of 
others  at  so  much  a  sheet,  turn  off  translations  ;  write 
second-rate  articles  to  fill  up  reviews  and  magazines ; 
compile  travels  and  voyages,  and  furnish  theatrical  criti- 
cisms for  the  newspapers.  All  this  authorship,  you  per- 
ceive, is  anonymous ;  it  gives  me  no  reputation,  except 
among  the  trade ;  where  I  am  considered  an  author  of  all 
work,  and  am  always  sure  of  employ.  That's  the  only 
reputation  I  want.  I  sleep  soundly,  without  dread  of 
duns  or  critics,  and  leave  immortal  fame  to  those  that 
choose  to  fret  and  fight  about  it.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
the  only  happy  author  in  this  world  is  he  who  is  below 
the  care  of  reputation." 


NOTOEIETY. 


HEN  we  had  emerged  from  the  literary  nest  of 
honest  Dribble,  and  had  passed  safely  through 
the  dangers  of  Breakneck  Stairs,  and  the  laby- 
rinths of  Fleet  Market,  Buckthorne  indulged  in  many 
comments  upon  the  peep  into  literary  life  which  he  had 
furnished  me. 

I  expressed  my  surprise  at  finding  it  so  different  a 
world  from  what  I  had  imagined.  "  It  is  always  so,"  said 
he,  "with  strangers.  The  land  of  literature  is  a  fairy 
land  to  those  who  view  it  at  a  distance,  but,  like  all  other 
landscapes,  the  charm  fades  on  a  nearer  approach,  and 
the  thorns  and  briars  become  visible.  The  republic  of 
letters  is  the  most  factious  and  discordant  of  all  repub- 
lics, ancient  or  modern." 

"Yet,"  said  I,  smiling,  "you  would  not  have  me  take 
honest  Dribble's  experience  as  a  view  of  the  land.  He 
is  but  a  mousing  owl ;  a  mere  groundling.  We  should 
hav3  quite  a  different  strain  from  one  of  those  fortu- 
nate authors  whom  we  see  sporting  about  the  empyreal 
heights  of  fashion,  like  swallows  in  the  blue  sky  of  a 
summer's  day." 

188 


NOTORIETY.  189 

"Perhaps  we  might,"  replied  he,  "but  I  doubt  it.  1 
doubt  whether,  if  any  one,  even  of  the  most  successful, 
were  to  tell  his  actual  feelings,  you  would  not  find  the 
truth  of  friend  Dribble's  philosophy  with  respect  to  rep- 
utation. One  you  would  find  carrying  a  gay  face  to  the 
world,  while  some  vulture  critic  was  preying  upon  his 
very  liver.  Another,  who  was  simple  enough  to  mistake 
fashion  for  fame,  you  would  find  watching  countenances, 
and  cultivating  invitations,  more  ambitious  to  figure  in 
the  heau  monde  than  the  world  of  letters,  and  apt  to  be 
rendered  wretched  by  the  neglect  of  an  illiterate  peer,  or 
a  dissipated  duchess.  Those  who  were  rising  to  fame, 
you  would  find  tormented  with  anxiety  to  get  higher; 
and  those  who  had  gained  the  summit,  in  constant  appre- 
hension of  a  decline. 

"  Even  those  who  are  indifferent  to  the  buzz  of  noto- 
riety, and  the  farce  of  fashion,  are  not  much  better  off, 
being  incessantly  harassed  by  intrusions  on  their  leisure, 
and  interruptions  of  their  pursuits ;  for,  whatever  may  be 
his  feelings,  when  once  an  author  is  launched  into  noto- 
riety, he  must  go  the  rounds  until  the  idle  curiosity  of  the 
day  is  satisfied,  and  he  is  thrown  aside  to  make  way  for 
some  new  caprice.  Upon  the  whole,  I  do  not  know  but 
he  is  most  fortunate  who  engages  in  the  whirl  through 
ambition,  however  tormenting ;  as  it  is  doubly  irksome  to 
be  obliged  to  join  in  the  game  without  being  interested 
in  the  stake. 

"  There  is  a  constant  demand  in  the  fashionable  world 


190  TALES  OF  A   TRAVELLER 

for  novelty ;  every  nine  days  must  have  its  wonder,  no 
matter  of  what  kind.  At  one  time  it  is  an  author ;  at 
another,  a  fire-eater  ;  at  another,  a  composer,  an  Indian 
juggler,  or  an  Indian  chief ;  a  man  from  the  North  Pole 
or  the  Pyramids  ;  each  figures  through  his  brief  term  of 
notoriety,  and  then  makes  way  for  the  succeeding  won- 
der. You  must  know  that  we  have  oddity  fanciers 
among  our  ladies  of  rank,  who  collect  about  them  all 
kinds  of  remarkable  beings ;  fiddlers,  statesmen,  singers, 
warriors,  artists,  philosophers,  actors,  and  poets;  every 
kind  of  personage,  in  short,  who  is  noted  for  something 
peculiar ;  so  that  their  routs  are  like  fancy-balls,  where 
every  one  comes  *in  character.' 

'*  I  have  had  infinite  amusement  at  these  parties  in 
noticing  how  industriously  every  one  was  playing  a  part, 
and  acting  out  of  his  natural  line.  There  is  not  a  more 
complete  game  at  cross  purposes  than  the  intercourse  of 
the  literary  and  the  great.  The  fine  gentleman  is  always 
anxious  to  be  thought  a  wit,  and  the  wit  a  fine  gentle- 
man. 

"  I  have  noticed  a  lord  endeavoring  to  look  wise  and 
talk  learnedly  with  a  man  of  letters,  who  was  aiming  at  a 
fashionable  air,  and  the  tone  of  a  man  who  had  lived 
about  town.  The  peer  quoted  a  score  or  two  learned 
authors,  with  whom  he  would  fain  be  thought  intimate, 
while  the  author  talked  of  Sir  John  this,  and  Sir  Harry 
that,  and  extolled  the  Burgundy  he  had  drunk  at  Lord 
Such-a-one's.    Each  seemed  to  forget  that  he  could  only 


NOTORIETY.  191 

be  interesting  to  the  other  in  his  proper  character.  Had 
the  peer  been  merely  a  man  of  erudition,  the  author 
would  never  have  listened  to  his  prosing ;  and  had  the 
author  known  all  the  nobility  in  the  Court  Calendar,  it 
would  have  given  him  no  interest  in  the  eyes  of  the  peer. 
"  In  the  same  way  I  have  seen  a  fine  lady,  remarkable 
for  beauty,  weary  a  philosopher  with  flimsy  metaphysics, 
while  the  philosopher  put  on  an  awkward  air  of  gal- 
lantry, played  with  her  fan,  and  prattled  about  the 
Opera.  I  have  heard  a  sentimental  poet  talk  very 
stupidly  with  a  statesman  about  the  national  debt ;  and 
on  joining  a  knot  of  scientific  old  gentlemen  conversing 
in  a  corner,  expecting  to  hear  the  discussion  of  some 
valuable  discovery,  I  found  they  were  only  amusing 
themselves  with  a  fat  story." 


A  PEACTICAL   PHILOSOPHER. 


HE  anecdotes  I  had  heard  of  Buckthorne's 
early  schoolmate,  together  with  a  variety  of 
peculiarities  which  I  had  remarked  in  himself, 
gave  me  a  strong  curiosity  to  know  something  of  his  own 
history.  I  am  a  traveller  of  the  good  old  school,  and  am 
fond  of  the  custom  laid  down  in  books,  according  to 
which,  whenever  travellers  met,  they  sat  down  forthwith, 
and  gave  a  history  of  themselves  and  their  adventures. 
This  Buckthorne,  too,  was  a  man  much  to  my  taste ;  he 
had  seen  the  world,  and  mingled  with  society,  yet  re- 
tained the  strong  eccentricities  of  a  man  who  had  lived 
much  alone.  There  was  a  careless  dash  of  good-humor 
about  him,  which  pleased  me  exceedingly ;  and  at  times 
an  odd  tinge  of  melancholy  mingled  with  his  humor,  and 
gave  it  an  additional  zest.  He  was  apt  to  run  into  long 
speculations  upon  society  and  manners,  and  to  indulge  in 
whimsical  views  of  human  nature ;  yet  there  was  nothing 
ill-tempered  in  his  satire.  It  ran  more  upon  the  follies 
than  the  vices  of  mankind  ;  and  even  the  follies  of  his  fel- 
low-man were  treated  with  the  leniency  of  one  who  felt 
himself  to  be  but  frail.     He  had  evidently  been  a  little 

192 


A  PRACTICAL  PHILOSOPHER.  193 

chilled  and  buffeted  by  fortune,  without  being  soured 
thereby :  as  some  fruits  become  mellower  and  more 
generous  in  their  flavor  from  having  been  bruised  and 
frost-bitten. 

I  have  always  had  a  great  relish  for  the  conversation  of 
practical  philosophers  of  this  stamp,  who  have  profited 
by  the  "sweet  uses"  of  adversity  without  imbibing  its 
bitterness ;  who  have  learned  to  estimate  the  world 
rightly,  yet  good-humoredly ;  and  who,  while  they  per- 
ceive the  truth  of  the  saying,  that  "  all  is  vanity,"  are  yet 
able  to  do  so  without  vexation  of  spirit. 

Such  a  man  was  Buckthorne.  In  general  a  laughing 
philosopher ;  and  if  at  any  time  a  shade  of  sadness  stole 
across  his  brow,  it  was  but  transient;  like  a  summer 
cloud,  which  soon  goes  by,  and  freshens  and  revives  the 
fields  over  which  it  passes. 

I  was  walking  with  him  one  day  in  Kensington  Gar- 
dens,— for  he  was  a  knowing  epicure  in  all  the  cheap 
pleasures  and  rural  haunts  within  reach  of  the  metropo- 
lis. It  was  a  delightful  warm  morning  in  spring ;  and  he 
was  in  the  happy  mood  of  a  pastoral  citizen,  when  just 
turned  loose  into  grass  and  sunshine.  He  had  been 
watching  a  lark  which,  rising  from  a  bed  of  daisies  and 
yellow-cups,  had  sung  his  way  up  to  a  bright  snowy 
cloud  floating  in  the  deep  blue  sky. 

"Of  all  birds,"  said  he,  "I  should  like  to  be  a  lark. 
He  revels  in  the  brightest  time  of  the  day,  in  the  happi- 
est season  of  the  year,  among  fresh  meadows  and  opening 
13 


194  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VJSLLEB. 

flowers ;  and  when  he  has  sated  himself  with  the  sweet- 
ness of  earth,  he  wings  his  flight  up  to  heaven  as  if  he 
would  drink  in  the  melody  of  the  morning  stars.  Hark  to 
that  note  !  How  it  comes  thrilling  down  upon  the  ear ! 
What  a  stream  of  music,  note  falling  over  note,  in  delicious 
cadence !  Who  would  trouble  his  head  about  operas  and 
concerts  when  he  could  walk  in  the  fields  and  hear  such 
music  for  nothing?  These  are  the  enjoyments  which  set 
riches  at  scorn,  and  make  even  a  poor  man  independent : 

*"  I  care  not,  Fortune,  what  you  do  deny  : 

You  cannot  rob  me  of  free  nature's  grace  ; 
You  cannot  shut  the  windows  of  the  sky, 

Through  which  Aurora  shows  her  bright'ning  face ; 

You  cannot  bar  my  constant  feet  to  trace 
The  woods  and  lawns  by  living  streams  at  eve ' 

"  Sir,  there  are  homilies  in  nature's  works  worth  all  the 
wisdom  of  the  schools,  if  we  could  but  read  them  rightly, 
and  one  of  the  pleasantest  lessons  I  ever  received  in  time 
of  trouble,  was  from  hearing  the  notes  of  the  lark." 

I  profited  by  this  communicative  vein  to  intimate  to 
Buckthorne  a  wish  to  know  something  of  the  events  of 
his  life,  which  I  fancied  must  have  been  an  eventful  one. 

He  smiled  when  I  expressed  my  desire.  "  I  have  no 
great  story,"  said  he,  "  to  relate.  A  mere  tissue  of  errors 
and  follies.  But,  such  as  it  is,  you  shall  have  one  epoch 
of  it,  by  which  you  may  judge  of  the  rest."  And  so, 
without  any  further  prelude,  he  gave  me  the  following 
anecdotes  of  his  early  adventures. 


BUCKTHORNE: 

OR, 

THE  YOUNG  MAN  OF  GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


WAS  born  to  very  little  property,  but  to  greai 
expectations  —  wiiich  is,  perhaps,  one  of  tlie 
most  unlucky  fortunes  a  man  can  be  born  to. 
My  father  was  a  country  gentleman,  the  last  of  a  very 
ancient  and  honorable,  but  decayed  family,  and  resided 
in  an  old  hunting-lodge  in  Warwickshire.  He  was  a  keen 
sportsman,  and  lived  to  the  extent  of  his  moderate 
income,  so  that  I  had  little  to  expect  from  that  quarter ; 
but  then  I  had  a  rich  uncle  by  the  mother's  side,  a  penu- 
rious, accumulating  curmudgeon,  who  it  was  confidently 
expected  would  make  me  his  heir,  because  he  was  an  old 
bachelor,  because  I  was  named  after  him,  and  because  he 
hated  all  the  world  except  myself. 

He  was,  in  fact,  an  inveterate  hater,  a  miser  even  in 
misanthropy,  and  hoarded  up  a  grudge  as  he  did  a  guinea. 
Thus,  though  my  mother  was  an  only  sister,  he  had 
never  forgiven  her  marriage  with  my  father,  against  whom 
he  had  a  cold,  still,  immovable  pique,  which  had  lain  at 
the  bottom  of  his  heart,  like  a  stone  in  a  well,  ever  since 

195 


196  TALE8  OF  A  TRA  VELLER, 

they  had  been  school-boys  together.  My  mother,  how- 
ever, considered  me  as  the  intermediate  being  that  was 
to  bring  everything  again  into  harmony,  for  she  looked 
upon  me  as  a  prodigy — God  bless  her !  my  heart  over- 
flows whenever  I  recall  her  tenderness.  She  was  the 
most  excellent,  the  most  indulgent  of  mothers.  I  was 
her  only  child :  it  was  a  pity  she  had  no  more,  for  she 
had  fondness  of  heart  enough  to  have  spoiled  a  dozen ! 

I  was  sent  at  an  early  age  to  a  public  school,  sorely 
against  my  mother's  wishes ;  but  my  father  insisted  that 
it  was  the  only  way  to  make  boys  hardy.  The  school  was 
kept  by  a  conscientious  prig  of  the  ancient  system,  who 
did  his  duty  by  the  boys  intrusted  to  his  care, — that  is 
to  say,  we  were  flogged  soundly  when  we  did  not  get  our 
lessons.  "We  were  put  in  classes,  and  thus  flogged  on  in 
droves  along  the  highway  of  knowledge,  in  much  the 
same  manner  as  cattle  are  driven  to  market ;  where  those 
that  are  heavy  in  gait,  or  short  in  leg,  have  to  suffer  for 
the  superior  alertness  or  longer  limbs  of  their  compan- 
ions. 

For  my  part,  I  confess  it  with  shame,  I  was  an  incor- 
rigible laggard.  I  have  always  had  the  poetical  feeling, 
that  is  to  say,  I  have  always  been  an  idle  fellow,  and 
prone  to  play  the  vagabond.  I  used  to  get  away  from 
my  books  and  school  whenever  I  could,  and  ramble 
about  the  fields.  I  was  surrounded  by  seductions  for 
such  a  temperament.  The  school-house  was  an  old- 
fashioned  whitewashed  mansion,  of  wood   and  plaster, 


BJJGKTHOUNE.  I97 

standing  on  the  skirts  of  a  beautiful  village  :  close  by  it 
was  the  venerable  church,  with  a  tall  Gothic  spire ; 
before  it  spread  a  lovely  green  valley,  with  a  little  stream 
glistening  along  through  willow  groves  ;  while  a  line  of 
blue  hills  bounding  the  landscape  gave  rise  to  many  a 
summer-day-dream  as  to  the  fairy  land  that  lay  beyond. 

In  spite  of  all  the  scourgings  I  suffered  at  that  school 
to  make  me  love  my  book,  I  cannot  but  look  back  upon 
the  place  with  fondness.  Indeed,  I  considered  this  fre- 
quent flagellation  as  the  common  lot  of  humanity,  and 
the  regular  mode  in  which  scholars  were  made. 

My  kind  mother  used  to  lament  over  my  details  of  the 
sore  trials  I  underwent  in  the  cause  of  learning ;  but  my 
father  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her  expostulations.  He  had 
been  flogged  through  school  himself,  and  he  swore  there 
was  no  other  way  of  making  a  man  of  parts ;  though,  let 
me  speak  it  with  all  due  reverence,  my  father  was  but  an 
indifferent  illustration  of  his  theory,  for  he  was  consid- 
ered a  grievous  blockhead. 

My  poetical  temperament  evinced  itself  at  a  very  early 
period.  The  village  church  was  attended  every  Sunday 
by  a  neighboring  squire,  the  lord  of  the  manor,  whose 
park  stretched  quite  to  the  village,  and  whose  spacious 
country-seat  seemed  to  take  the  church  under  its  pro- 
tection. Indeed,  you  would  have  thought  the  church 
had  been  consecrated  to  him  instead  of  to  the  Deity. 
The  parish  clerk  bowed  low  before  him,  and  the  vergers 
humbled  themselves  unto  the  dust  in  his  presence.     He 


198  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

always  entered  a  little  late,  and  witli  some  stir ;  striking 
Lis  cane  emphatically  on  the  ground,  swaying  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  and  looking  loftily  to  the  right  and  left  as  he 
walked  slowly  np  the  aisle  ;  and  the  parson,  who  always 
ate  his  Sunday  dinner  with  him,  never  commenced  ser- 
vice until  he  appeared.  He  sat  with  his  family  in  a 
large  pew,  gorgeously  lined,  humbling  himself  devoutly 
on  velvet  cushions,  and  reading  lessons  of  meekness  and 
lowliness  of  spirit  out  of  splendid  gold  and  morocco 
prayer-books.  Whenever  the  parson  spoke  of  the  diffi- 
culty of  a  rich  man's  entering  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  the 
eyes  of  the  congregation  would  turn  towards  the  "grand 
pew,"  and  I  thought  the  squire  seemed  pleased  with  the 
application. 

The  pomp  of  this  pew,  and  the  aristocratical  air  of  the 
family  struck  my  imagination  wonderfully ;  and  I  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  a  little  daughter  of  the  squire's, 
about  twelve  years  of  age.  This  freak  of  fancy  made  me 
more  truant  from  my  studies  than  ever.  I  used  to  stroll 
about  the  squire's  park,  and  lurk  near  the  house,  to 
catch  glimpses  of  this  damsel  at  the  windows,  or  playing 
about  the  lawn,  or  walking  out  with  her  governess. 

I  had  not  enterprise  nor  impudence  enough  to  venture 
from  my  concealment.  Indeed  I  felt  like  an  arrant 
poacher,  until  I  read  one  or  two  of  Ovid's  Metamor- 
phoses, when  I  pictured  myself  as  some  sylvan  deity,  and 
she  a  coy  wood-nymph  of  whom  I  was  in  pursuit.  There 
is  something  extremely  delicious  in  these  early  awaken- 


BUCKTHOENE,  199 

ings  of  the  tender  passion.  I  can  feel  even  at  this 
moment  the  throbbing  in  my  boyish  bosom,  whenever  by 
chance  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  white  frock  fluttering 
among  the  shrubbery.  I  carried  about  in  my  bosom 
a  volume  of  Waller,  which  I  had  purloined  from  my 
mother's  library ;  and  I  applied  to  my  little  fair  one  all 
the  compliments  lavished  upon  Sacharissa. 

At  length  I  danced  with  her  at  a  school-ball.  I  was 
so  awkward  a  booby,  that  I  dared  scarcely  speak  to  her ; 
I  was  filled  with  awe  and  embarrassment  in  her  pres- 
ence ;  but  I  was  so  inspired,  that  my  poetical  tempera- 
ment for  the  first  time  broke  out  in  verse,  and  I  fabri- 
cated some  glowing  rhymes,  in  which  I  berhymed  the 
little  lady  under  the  favorite  name  of  Sacharissa.  I 
slipped  the  verses,  trembling  and  blushing,  into  her 
hand  the  next  Sunday  as  she  came  out  of  church.  The 
little  prude  handed  them  to  her  mamma ;  the  mamma 
handed  them  to  the  squire  ;  the  squire,  who  had  no  soul 
for  poetry,  sent  them  in  dudgeon  to  the  schoolmaster; 
and  the  schoolmaster,  with  a  barbarity  worthy  of  the 
dark  ages,  gave  me  a  sound  and  peculiarly  humiliating 
flogging  for  thus  trespassing  upon  Parnassus.  This  was 
a  sad  outset  for  a  votary  of  the  Muse ;  it  ought  to  have 
cured  me  of  my  passion  for  poetry ;  but  it  only  confirmed 
it,  for  I  felt  the  spirit  of  a  martyr  rising  within  me. 
"What  was  as  well,  perhaps,  it  cured  me  of  my  passion  for 
the  young  lady ;  for  I  felt  so  indignant  at  the  ignomini- 
ous horsing  I  had  incurred  in   celebrating  her  charms, 


200  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

that  I  could  not  hold  up  mj  head  in  church.  Fortu- 
nately for  my  wounded  sensibility,  the  Midsummer  holi- 
days came  on,  and  I  returned  home.  My  mother,  as 
usual,  inquired  into  all  my  school  concerns,  my  little 
pleasures,  and  cares,  and  sorrows ;  for  boyhood  has  its 
share  of  the  one  as  well  as  of  the  other.  I  told  her  all, 
and  she  was  indignant  at  the  treatment  I  had  experi- 
enced. She  fired  up  at  the  arrogance  of  the  squire,  and 
the  prudery  of  the  daughter ;  and  as  to  the  schoolmas- 
ter, she  wondered  where  was  the  use  of  having  school- 
masters, and  why  boys  could  not  remain  at  home,  and  be 
educated  by  tutors,  under  the  eye  of  their  mothers.  She 
asked  to  see  the  verses  I  had  written,  and  she  was  de- 
lighted with  them ;  for,  to  confess  the  truth,  she  had  a 
pretty  taste  for  poetry.  She  even  showed  them  to  the 
parson's  wife,  who  protested  they  were  charming;  and 
the  parson's  three  daughters  insisted  on  each  having  a 
copy  of  them. 

All  this  was  exceedingly  balsamic ;  and  I  was  still 
more  consoled  and  encouraged  when  the  young  ladies, 
who  were  the  bluestockings  of  the  neighborhood,  and 
had  read  Dr.  Johnson's  Lives  quite  through,  assured 
my  mother  that  great  geniuses  never  studied,  but  were 
always  idle ;  upon  which  I  began  to  surmise  that  I  was 
myself  something  out  of  the  common  run.  My  father, 
however,  was  of  a  very  different  opinion;  for  when  my 
mother,  in  the  pride  of  her  heart,  showed  him  my  copy 
of  verses,  he  threw  them  out  of  the  window,  asking  her 


BUCKTHOBNE.  201 

**'if  she  meant  to  make  a  ballad-monger  of  the  boy?" 
But  he  was  a  careless,  common-thinking  man,  and  I  can- 
not say  that  I  ever  loved  him  much ;  my  mother  absorbed 
all  my  filial  affection. 

I  used  occasionally,  on  holidays,  to  be  sent  on  short 
visits  to  the  uncle  who  was  to  make  me  his  heir;  they 
thought  it  would  keep  me  in  his  mind,  and  render  him 
fond  of  me.  He  was  a  withered,  anxious-looking,  old  fel- 
low, and  lived  in  a  desolate  old  country-seat,  which  he 
suffered  to  go  to  ruin  from  absolute  niggardliness.  He 
kept  but  one  man-servant,  who  had  lived,  or  rather 
starved  with  him  for  years.  No  woman  was  allowed  to 
sleep  in  the  house.  A  daughter  of  the  old  servant  lived 
by  the  gate,  in  what  had  been  a  porter's  lodge,  and  was 
permitted  to  come  into  the  house  about  an  hour  each 
day,  to  make  the  beds  and  cook  a  morsel  of  provisions. 
The  park  that  surrounded  the  house  was  all  run  wild  : 
the  trees  were  grown  out  of  shape ;  the  fish-ponds  stag- 
nant ;  the  urns  and  statues  fallen  from  their  pedestals, 
and  buried  among  the  rank  grass.  The  hares  and  pheas- 
ants were  so  little  molested,  except  by  poachers,  that 
they  bred  in  great  abundance,  and  sported  about  the 
rough  lawns  and  weedy  avenues.  To  guard  the  premises, 
and  frighten  off  lobbers,  of  whom  he  was  somewhat 
apprehensive,  and  visitors,  of  whom  he  was  in  almost 
equal  awe,  my  uncle  kept  two  or  three  bloodhounds,  who 
were  always  prowling  round  the  house,  and  were  the 
dread  of  the  neighboring  peasantry.     They  were  gaunt 


202  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

and  half  starved,  seemed  ready  to  devour  one  from  mere 
hunger,  and  were  an  effectual  check  on  any  stranger's 
approach  to  this  wizard  castle. 

Such  was  my  uncle's  house,  which  I  used  to  visit  now 
and  then  during  the  holidays.  I  was,  as  I  before  said, 
the  old  man's  favorite  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  did  not  hate  me 
so  much  as  he  did  the  rest  of  the  world.  I  had  been 
apprised  of  his  character,  and  cautioned  to  cultivate  his 
good  will ;  but  I  was  too  young  and  careless  to  be  a  cour- 
tier, and,  indeed,  have  never  been  sufficiently  studious  of 
my  interests  to  let  them  govern  my  feelings.  However, 
we  jogged  on  very  well  together,  and  as  my  visits  cost 
him  almost  nothing,  they  did  not  seem  to  be  very  unwel- 
come. I  brought  with  me  my  fishing-rod,  and  half  sup- 
plied the  table  from  the  fish-ponds. 

Our  meals  were  solitary  and  unsocial.  My  uncle  rarely 
spoke ;  he  pointed  to  whatever  he  wanted,  and  the  ser- 
vant perfectly  understood  him.  Indeed,  his  man  John,  or 
Iron  John,  as  he  was  called  in  the  neighborhood,  was  a 
counterpart  of  his  master.  He  was  a  tall,  bony  old  fel- 
low, with  a  dry  wig,  that  seemed  made  of  cow's-tail,  and 
a  face  as  tough  as  though  it  had  been  made  of  cow's- 
hide.  He  was  generally  clad  in  a  long,  patched  livery 
coat,  taken  out  of  the  wardrobe  of  the  house,  and  which 
bagged  loosely  about  him,  having  evidently  belonged  to 
some  corpulent  predecessor,  in  the  more  plenteous  days 
of  the  mansion.  From  long  habits  of  taciturnity  the 
hinges   of  his  jaws   seemed   to  have   grown  absolutely 


BUCKTHOBNE.  203 

rusty,  and  it  cost  him  as  much  effort  to  set  them  ajar,  and 
to  let  out  a  tolerable  sentence,  as  it  would  have  done  to 
set  open  the  iron  gates  of  the  park,  and  let  out  the  old 
family  carriage,  that  was  dropping  to  pieces  in  the  coach- 
house. 

I  cannot  say,  however,  but  that  I  was  for  some  time 
amused  with  my  uncle's  peculiarities.  Even  the  very 
desolateness  of  the  establishment  had  something  in  it 
that  hit  my  fancy.  "When  the  weather  was  fine,  I  used  to 
amuse  myself  in  a  solitary  way,  by  rambling  about  the 
park,  and  coursing  like  a  colt  across  its  lawns.  The 
hares  and  pheasants  seemed  to  stare  with  surprise  to  see 
a  human  being  walking  these  forbidden  grounds  by  day- 
light. Sometimes  I  amused  myself  by  jerking  stones,  or 
shooting  at  birds  with  a  bow  and  arrows ;  for  to  have 
used  a  gun  would  have  been  treason.  Now  and  then  my 
path  was  crossed  by  a  little  red-headed  ragged-tailed 
urchin,  the  son  of  the  woman  at  the  lodge,  who  ran  wild 
about  the  premises.  I  tried  to  draw  him  into  familiarity, 
and  to  make  a  companion  of  him,  but  he  seemed  to  have 
imbibed  the  strange  unsociable  character  of  everything 
around  him,  and  always  kept  aloof ;  so  I  considered  him 
as  another  Orson,  and  amused  myself  with  shooting  at 
him  with  my  bow  and  arrows,  and  he  would  hold  up  his 
breeches  with  one  hand,  and  scamper  away  like  a  deer. 

There  was  something  in  all  this  loneliness  and  wild- 
ness  strangely  pleasing  to  me.  The  great  stables,  empty 
and  weather-broken,  with  the  names  of  favorite  horses 


204  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLBB. 

over  the  vacant  stalls  ;  the  windows  bricked  and  boarded 
up  ;  the  broken  roofs,  garrisoned  by  rooks  and  jackdaws, 
all  had  a  singularly  forlorn  appearance.  One  would  have 
concluded  the  house  to  be  totally  uninhabited,  were  it 
not  for  the  little  thread  of  blue  smoke  which  now  and 
then  curled  up,  like  a  corkscrew,  from  the  centre  of  one 
of  the  wide  chimneys  where  my  uncle's  starveling  meal 
was  cooking. 

My  uncle's  room  was  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  build- 
ing, strongly  secured,  and  generally  locked.  I  was  never 
admitted  into  this  strong-hold,  where  the  old  man  would 
remain  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  drawn  up,  like  a 
veteran  spider,  in  the  citadel  of  his  web.  The  rest  of  the 
mansion,  however,  was  open  to  me,  and  I  wandered 
about  it  unconstrained.  The  damp  and  rain  which  beat 
in  through  the  broken  windows,  crumbled  the  paper  from 
the  walls,  mouldered  the  pictures,  and  gradually  de- 
stroyed the  furniture.  I  loved  to  roam  about  the  wide 
waste  chambers  in  bad  weather,  and  listen  to  the  howl- 
ing of  the  wind,  and  the  banging  about  of  the  doors  and 
window-shutters.  I  pleased  myself  with  the  idea  how 
completely,  when  I  came  to  the  estate,  I  would  renovate 
all  things,  and  make  the  old  building  ring  with  merri- 
ment, till  it  was  astonished  at  its  own  jocundity. 

The  chamber  which  I  occupied  on  these  visits,  had 
been  my  mother's  when  a  girl.  There  was  still  the  toilet- 
table  of  her  own  adorning,  the  landscapes  of  her  own 
drawing.     She  had  never  seen  it  since  her  marriage,  but 


BUCKTHOBNS,  205 

would  often  ask  me,  if  everything  was  still  the  same.  All 
was  jnst  the  same,  for  I  loved  that  chamber  on  her 
account,  and  had  taken  pains  to  put  everything  in  order, 
and  to  mend  all  the  flaws  in  the  windows  with  my  own 
hands.  I  anticipated  the  time  when  I  should  once  more 
welcome  her  to  the  house  of  her  fathers,  and  restore  her 
to  this  little  nestling-place  of  her  childhood. 

At  length  my  evil  genius,  or  what,  perhaps,  is  the 
same  thing,  the  Muse,  inspired  me  with  the  notion  of 
rhyming  again.  My  uncle,  who  never  went  to  church, 
used  on  Sundays  to  read  chapters  out  of  the  Bible ; 
and  Iron  John,  the  woman  from  the  lodge,  and  myself, 
were  his  congregation.  It  seemed  to  be  all  one  to  him 
what  he  read,  so  long  as  it  was  something  from  the 
Bible.  Sometimes,  therefore,  it  would  be  the  Song  of 
Solomon,  and  this  withered  anatomy  would  read  about 
being  "  stayed  with  flagons,  and  comforted  with  apples, 
for  he  was  sick  of  love."  Sometimes  he  would  hobble, 
with  spectacles  on  nose,  through  whole  chapters  of 
hard  Hebrew  names  in  Deuteronomy,  at  which  the  poor 
woman  would  sigh  and  groan,  as  if  wonderfully  moved. 
His  favorite  book,  however,  was  "  The  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress "  ;  and  when  he  came  to  that  part  which  treats  of 
Doubting  Castle  and  Giant  Despair,  I  thought  invariably 
of  him  and  his  desolate  old  country-seat.  So  much  did 
the  idea  amuse  me,  that  I  took  to  scribbling  about  it 
under  the  trees  in  the  park ;  and  in  a  few  days  had  made 
some  progress  in  a  poem,  in  which  I  had  given  a  descrip- 


206  TALE8  OF  A   TBA  VELLER. 

tion  of  tlie  place,  under  tlie  name  of  Doubting  Castle, 
and  personified  mj  uncle  as  Giant  Despair. 

I  lost  my  poem  somewhere  about  the  house,  and  I 
soon  suspected  that  my  uncle  had  found  it,  as  he  harshly 
intimated  to  me  that  I  could  return  home,  and  that  I  need 
not  come  and  see  him  again  till  he  should  send  for  me. 

Just  about  this  time  my  mother  died.  I  cannot  dwell 
upon  the  circumstance.  My  heart,  careless  and  wayward 
as  it  is,  gushes  with  the  recollection.  Her  death  was  an 
event  that  perhaps  gave  a  turn  to  all  my  after  fortunes. 
With  her  died  all  that  made  home  attractive.  I  had  no 
longer  anybody  whom  I  was  ambitious  to  please,  or  fear- 
ful to  offend.  My  father  was  a  good  kind  of  a  man  in  his 
way,  but  he  had  bad  maxims  in  education,  and  we  dif- 
fered in  material  points.  It  makes  a  vast  difference  in 
opinion  about  the  utility  of  the  rod,  which  end  happens 
to  fall  to  one's  share.  I  never  could  be  brought  into  my 
father's  way  of  thinking  on  the  subject. 

I  now,  therefore,  began  to  grow  very  impatient  of 
remaining  at  school,  to  be  flogged  for  things  that  I  did 
not  like.  I  longed  for  variety,  especially  now  that  I  had 
not  my  uncle's  house  to  resort  to,  by  way  of  diversifying 
the  dulness  of  school  with  the  dreariness  of  his  country- 
seat. 

I  was  now  almost  seventeen,  tall  for  my  age,  and  full  of 
idle  fancies.  I  had  a  roving,  inextinguishable  desire  to 
see  different  kinds  of  life,  and  different  orders  of  society ; 
and  this  vagrant  humor  had  been  fostered  in  me  by  Tom 


BUGKTHOnNE.  207 

Dribble,  the  prime  wag  and  great  genins  of  tlie  schooL 
who  had  all  the  rambling  propensities  of  a  poet. 

I  used  to  sit  at  my  desk  in  the  school,  on  a  fine  sum- 
mer's day,  and  instead  of  studying  the  book  which  lay 
open  before  me,  my  eye  was  gazing  through  the  windows 
on  the  green  fields  and  blue  hills.  How  I  envied  the 
happy  groups  on  the  tops  of  stage-coaches,  chatting,  and 
joking,  and  laughing,  as  they  were  whirled  by  the  school- 
house  on  their  way  to  the  metropolis.  Even  the  wagon- 
ers, trudging  along  beside  their  ponderous  teams,  and 
traversing  the  kingdom  from  one  end  to  the  other,  were 
objects  of  envy  to  me  :  I  fancied  to  myself  what  adven- 
tures they  must  experience,  and  what  odd  scenes  of  life 
they  must  witness.  All  this  was,  doubtless,  the  poetical 
temperament  working  within  me,  and  tempting  me  forth 
into  a  world  of  its  own  creation,  which  I  mistook  for  the 
world  of  real  life. 

While  my  mother  lived,  this  strong  propensity  to  rove 
was  counteracted  by  the  stronger  attractions  of  home, 
and  by  the  powerful  ties  of  affection  which  drew  me  to 
her  side ;  but  now  that  she  was  gone,  the  attraction  had 
ceased;  the  ties  were  severed.  I  had  no  longer  an  an- 
chorage-ground for  my  heart,  but  was  at  the  mercy  of 
every  vagrant  impulse.  Nothing  but  the  narrow  allow- 
ance on  which  my  father  kept  me,  and  the  consequent 
penury  of  my  purse,  prevented  me  from  mounting  to  the 
top  of  a  stage-coach,  and  launching  myself  adrift  on  the 
great  ocean  of  life. 


208  TALES  OP  A   THA  VELLER, 

Just  about  this  time  the  village  was  agitated  for  a  day 
or  two,  by  the  passing  through  of  several  caravans,  con- 
taining wild  beasts,  and  other  spectacles,  for  a  great  fair 
annually  held  at  a  neighboring  town. 

I  had  never  seen  a  fair  of  any  consequence,  and  my 
curiosity  was  powerfully  awakened  by  this  bustle  of  prep- 
aration. I  gazed  with  respect  and  wonder  at  the  vagrant 
personages  who  accompanied  these  caravans.  I  loitered 
about  the  village  inn,  listening  with  curiosity  and  delight 
to  the  slang  talk  and  cant  jokes  of  the  showmen  and  their 
followers  ;  and  I  felt  an  eager  desire  to  witness  this  fair, 
which  my  fancy  decked  out  as  something  wonderfully 
fine. 

A  holiday  afternoon  presented,  when  I  could  be  absent 
from  noon  until  evening.  A  wagon  was  going  from  the 
village  to  the  fair ;  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation, 
nor  the  eloquence  of  Tom  Dribble,  who  was  a  truant  to 
the  very  heart's  core.  We  hired  seats,  and  set  off  full  of 
boyish  expectation.  I  promised  myself  that  I  would  but 
take  a  peep  at  the  land  of  promise,  and  hasten  back  again 
before  my  absence  should  be  noticed. 

Heavens !  how  happy  I  was  on  arriving  at  the  fair ! 
How  I  was  enchanted  with  the  world  of  fun  and  pag- 
eantry around  me !  The  humors  of  Punch,  the  feats  of 
the  equestrians,  the  magical  tricks  of  the  conjurers !  But 
what  principally  caught  my  attention  was  an  itinerant 
theatre,  where  a  tragedy,  pantomime,  and  farce  were  all 
acted  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour,  and  more  of  the 


BUCKTHOBNE.  209 

dramatis  personse  murdered  than  at  either  Drnry  Lane 
or  Covent  Garden  in  the  course  of  a  whole  evening.  I 
have  since  seen  many  a  play  performed  by  the  best  actors 
in  the  world,  but  never  have  I  derived  half  the  delight 
from  any  that  I  did  from  this  first  representation. 

There  was  a  ferocious  tyrant  in  a  skullcap  like  an 
inverted  porringer,  and  a  dress  of  red  baize,  magnifi- 
cently embroidered  with  gilt  leather;  with  his  face  so 
bewhiskered,  and  his  eyebrows  so  knit  and  expanded 
with  burnt  cork,  that  he  made  my  heart  quake  within 
me,  as  he  stamped  about  the  little  stage.  I  was  enrap- 
tured too  with  the  surpassing  beauty  of  a  distressed 
damsel  in  a  faded  pink  silk,  and  dirty  white  muslin, 
whom  he  held  in  cruel  captivity  by  way  of  gaining  her 
affections,  and  who  wept,  and  wrung  her  hands,  and  flour- 
ished a  ragged  white  handkerchief,  from  the  top  of  an 
impregnable  tower  of  the  size  of  a  bandbox. 

Even  after  I  had  come  out  from  the  play,  I  could  not 
tear  myself  from  the  vicinity  of  the  theatre,  but  lingered, 
gazing  and  wondering,  and  laughing  at  the  dramatis  per- 
sonse as  they  performed  their  antics,  or  danced  upon  a 
stage  in  front  of  the  booth,  to  decoy  a  new  set  of  spec- 
tators. 

I  was  so  bewildered  by  the  scene,  and  so  lost  in  the 
crowd  of  sensations  that  kept  swarming  upon  me,  that  I 
was  like  one  entranced.  I  lost  my  companion,  Tom 
Dribble,  in  a  tumult  and  scuffle  that  took  place  near  one 
of  the  shows ;  but  I  was  too  much  occupied  in  mind  to 
14 


210  TALE8  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

think  long  about  him.  I  strolled  about  until  dark,  when 
the  fair  was  lighted  up,  and  a  new  scene  of  magic  opened 
upon  me.  The  illumination  of  the  tents  and  booths,  the 
brilliant  effect  of  the  stages  decorated  with  lamps,  with 
dramatic  groups  flaunting  about  them  in  gaudy  dresses, 
contrasted  splendidly  with  the  surrounding  darkness ; 
while  the  uproar  of  drums,  trumpets,  fiddles,  hautboys, 
and  cymbals,  mingled  with  the  harangues  of  the  show- 
men, the  squeaking  of  Punch,  and  the  shouts  and  laugh- 
ter of  the  crowd,  all  united  to  complete  my  giddy  dis- 
traction. 

Time  flew  without  my  perceiving  it.  "When  I  came  to 
myself  and  thought  of  the  school,  I  hastened  to  return. 
I  inquired  for  the  wagon  in  which  I  had  come  :  it  had 
been  gone  for  hours  !  I  asked  the  time  :  it  was  almost 
midnight !  A  sudden  quaking  seized  me.  How  was  I  to 
get  back  to  school?  I  was  too  weary  to  make  the 
journey  on  foot,  and  I  knew  not  where  to  apply  for  a 
conveyance.  Even  if  I  should  find  one,  could  I  venture 
to  disturb  the  school-house  long  after  midnight — to 
arouse  that  sleeping  lion  the  usher  in  the  very  midst  of 
his  night's  rest? — the  idea  was  too  dreadful  for  a  delin- 
quent school-boy.  All  the  horrors  of  return  rushed  upon 
me.  My  absence  must  long  before  this  have  been  re- 
marked ; — and  absent  for  a  whole  night ! — a  deed  of  dark- 
ness not  easily  to  be  expiated.  The  rod  of  the  pedagogue 
budded  forth  into  tenfold  terrors  before  my  affrighted 
fancy.     I  pictured  to  myself  punishment  and  humiliation 


BUCKTEOBNK  211 

in  every  variety  of  form,  and  my  heart  sickened  at  the 
picture.  Alas !  how  often  are  the  petty  ills  of  boyhood 
as  painful  to  our  tender  natures  as  are  the  sterner  evils 
of  manhood  to  our  robuster  minds. 

I  wandered  about  among  the  booths,  and  I  might  have 
derived  a  lesson  from  my  actual  feelings,  how  much  the 
charms  of  this  world  depend  upon  ourselves  ;  for  I  no 
longer  saw  anything  gay  or  delightful  in  the  revelry 
around  me.  At  length  I  lay  down,  wearied  and  per- 
plexed, behind  one  of  the  large  tents,  and,  covering  my- 
self with  the  margin  of  the  tent-cloth,  to  keep  off  the 
night  chill,  I  soon  fell  asleep. 

I  had  not  slept  long,  when  I  was  awakened  by  the 
noise  of  merriment  within  an  adjoining  booth.  It  was 
the  itinerant  theatre,  rudely  constructed  of  boards  and 
canvas.  I  peeped  through  an  aperture,  and  saw  the 
whole  dramatis  personse,  tragedy,  comedy,  and  panto- 
mime, all  refreshing  themselves  after  the  final  dismissal 
of  their  auditors.  They  were  merry  and  gamesome,  and 
made  the  flimsy  theatre  ring  with  their  laughter.  I  was 
astonished  to  see  the  tragedy  tyrant  in  red  baize  and 
fierce  whiskers,  who  had  made  my  heart  quake  as  he 
strutted  about  the  boards,  now  transformed  into  a  fat, 
good-humored  fellow ;  the  beaming  porringer  laid  aside 
from  his  brow,  and  his  jolly  face  washed  from  all  the 
terrors  of  burnt  cork.  I  was  delighted,  too,  to  see  the 
distressed  damsel,  in  faded  silk  and  dirty  muslin,  who 
had  trembled  under  his  tyranny,  and  afflicted  me  so  much 


212  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

by  her  sorrows,  now  seated  familiarly  on  his  knee,  and 
quaffing  from  the  same  tankard.  Harlequin  lay  asleep 
on  one  of  the  benches ;  and  monks,  satyrs,  and  vestal 
virgins  were  grouped  together,  laughing  outrageously  at 
a  broad  story  told  by  an  unhappy  count,  who  had  been 
barbarously  murdered  in  the  tragedy. 

This  was  indeed  novelty  to  me.  It  was  a  peep  into 
another  planet.  I  gazed  and  listened  with  intense  curi- 
osity and  enjoyment.  They  had  a  thousand  odd  stories 
and  jokes  about  the  events  of  the  day,  and  burlesque 
descriptions  and  mimickings  of  the  spectators  who  had 
been  admiring  them.  Their  conversation  was  full  of  allu- 
sions to  their  adventures  at  different  places  where  they 
had  exhibited ;  the  characters  they  had  met  with  in  dif- 
ferent villages ;  and  the  ludicrous  difficulties  in  which 
they  had  occasionally  been  involved.  All  past  cares  and 
troubles  were  now  turned,  by  these  thoughtless  beings, 
into  matters  of  merriment,  and  made  to  contribute  to  the 
gayety  of  the  moment.  They  had  been  moving  from  fair 
to  fair  about  the  kingdom,  and  were  the  next  morning  to 
set  out  on  their  way  to  London.  My  resolution  was 
taken.  I  stole  from  my  nest,  and  crept  through  a  hedge 
into  a  neighboring  field,  where  I  went  to  work  to  make  a 
tatterdemalion  of  myself.  I  tore  my  clothes ;  soiled  them 
with  dirt;  begrimed  my  face  and  hands,  and  crawling 
near  one  of  the  booths,  purloined  an  old  hat,  and  left  my 
new  one  in  its  place.  It  was  an  honest  theft,  and  I  hope 
may  not  hereafter  rise  up  in  judgment  against  me. 


BUCKTHOBNE.  213 

I  now  ventured  to  tlie  scene  of  merry-making,  and  pre- 
senting myself  before  tlie  dramatic  corps,  offered  myself 
as  a  volunteer.  I  felt  terribly  agitated  and  abaslied,  for 
never  before  "  stood  I  in  such  a  presence."  I  had  ad- 
dressed myself  to  the  manager  of  the  company.  He 
was  a  fat  man,  dressed  in  dirty  white,  with  a  red  sash 
fringed  with  tinsel  swathed  round  his  body ;  his  face  was 
smeared  with  paint,  and  a  majestic  plume  towered  from 
an  old  spangled  black  bonnet.  He  was  the  Jupiter  To- 
nans  of  this  Olympus,  and  was  surrounded  by  the  inferior 
gods  and  goddesses  of  his  court.  He  sat  on  the  end  of  a 
bench,  by  a  table,  with  one  arm  akimbo,  and  the  other 
extended  to  the  handle  of  a  tankard,  which  he  had  slowly 
set  down  from  his  lips,  as  he  surveyed  me  from  head  to 
foot.  It  was  a  moment  of  awful  scrutiny ;  and  I  fancied 
the  groups  around,  all  watching  as  in  silent  suspense,  and 
waiting  for  the  imperial  nod. 

He  questioned  me  as  to  who  I  was;  what  were  my 
qualifications ;  and  what  terms  I  expected.  I  passed 
myself  off  for  a  discharged  servant  from  a  gentleman's 
family;  and  as,  happily,  one  does  not  require  a  special 
recommendation  to  get  admitted  into  bad  company,  the 
questions  on  that  head  were  easily  satisfied.  As  to  my 
accomplishments,  I  could  spout  a  little  poetry,  and  knew 
several  scenes   of  plays,  which   I   had  learnt  at  school 

exhibitions ;  I  could  dance .     That  was  enough.     No 

further  questions  were  asked  me  as  to  accomplishments ; 
it  was  the  very  thing  they  wanted ;  and  as  I  asked  no 


214  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

wages  but  merely  meat  and  drink,  and  safe  conduct 
about  the  world,  a  bargain  was  struck  in  a  moment. 

Behold  me,  therefore,  transformed  in  a  sudden  from  a 
gentleman  student  to  a  dancing  buffoon ;  for  such,  in 
fact,  was  the  character  in  which  I  made  my  debut. 
I  was  one  of  those  who  formed  the  groups  in  the 
dramas,  and  was  principally  employed  on  the  stage  in 
front  of  the  booth  to  attract  company.  I  was  equipped 
as  a  satyr,  in  a  dress  of  drab  frieze  that  fitted  to  my 
shape,  with  a  great  laughing  mask,  ornamented  with 
huge  ears  and  short  horns.  I  was  pleased  with  the 
disguise,  because  it  kept  me  from  the  danger  of  being 
discovered,  whilst  we  were  in  that  part  of  the  country ; 
and  as  I  had  merely  to  dance  and  make  antics,  the 
character  was  favorable  to  a  debutant — being  almost  on 
a  par  with  Simon  Smug's  part  of  the  lion,  which  required 
nothing  but  roaring. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  I  was  at  this  sudden 
change  in  my  situation.  I  felt  no  degradation,  for  I  had 
seen  too  little  of  society  to  be  thoughtful  about  the  dif- 
ference of  rank  ;  and  a  boy  of  sixteen  is  seldom  aristo- 
cratical.  I  had  given  up  no  friend,  for  there  seemed  to 
be  no  one  in  the  world  that  cared  for  me,  now  that  my 
poor  mother  was  dead ;  I  had  given  up  no  pleasure,  for 
my  pleasure  was  to  ramble  about  and  indulge  the  flow  of 
a  poetical  imagination,  and  I  now  enjoyed  it  in  perfec- 
tion. There  is  no  life  so  truly  poetical  as  that  of  a 
dancing  buffoon. 


BTJOKTHOENE.  215 

It  may  be  said  tliafc  all  this  argued  grovelling  inclina- 
tions. I  do  not  think  so.  Not  that  I  mean  to  vindicate 
myself  in  any  great  degree  :  I  know  too  well  what  a 
whimsical  compound  I  am.  But  in  this  instance  I  was 
seduced  by  no  love  of  low  company,  nor  disposition  to 
indulge  in  low  vices.  I  have  always  despised  the  bru- 
tally vulgar,  and  had  a  disgust  at  vice,  whether  in  high 
or  low  life.  I  was  governed  merely  by  a  sudden  and 
thoughtless  impulse.  I  had  no  idea  of  resorting  to  this 
profession  as  a  mode  of  life,  or  of  attaching  myself  to 
these  people,  as  my  future  class  of  society.  I  thought 
merely  of  a  temporary  gratification  to  my  curiosity,  and 
an  indulgence  of  my  humors.  I  had  already  a  strong 
relish  for  the  peculiarities  of  character  and  the  varieties 
of  situation,  and  I  have  always  been  fond  of  the  comedy 
of  life,  and  desirous  of  seeing  it  through  all  its  shifting 
scenes. 

In  mingling,  therefore,  among  mountebanks  and  buf- 
foons, I  was  protected  by  the  very  vivacity  of  imagina- 
tion which  had  led  me  among  them;  I  moved  about, 
enveloped,  as  it  were,  in  a  protecting  delusion,  which  my 
fancy  spread  around  me.  I  assimilated  to  these  people 
only  as  they  struck  me  poetically ;  their  whimsical  ways 
and  a  certain  picturesqueness  in  their  mode  of  life  enter- 
tained me ;  but  I  was  neither  amused  nor  corrupted  by 
their  vices.  In  short,  I  mingled  among  them,  as  Prince 
Hal  did  among  his  graceless  associates,  merely  to  gratify 
my  humor. 


216  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

I  did  not  investigate  my  motives  in  this  manner,  at  the 
time,  for  I  was  too  careless  and  thoughtless  to  reason 
about  the  matter ;  but  I  do  so  now,  when  I  look  back 
with  trembling  to  think  of  the  ordeal  to  which  I  unthink- 
ingly exposed  myself,  and  the  manner  in  which  I  passed 
through  it.  Nothing,  I  am  convinced,  but  the  poetical 
temperament,  that  hurried  me  into  the  scrape,  brought 
me  out  of  it  without  my  becoming  an  arrant  vagabond. 

Full  of  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment,  giddy  with  the 
wildness  of  animal  spirits,  so  rapturous  in  a  boy,  I 
capered,  I  danced,  I  played  a  thousand  fantastic  tricks 
about  the  stage,  in  the  villages  in  which  we  exhibited; 
and  I  was  universally  pronounced  the  most  agreeable 
monster  that  had  ever  been  seen  in  those  parts.  My 
disappearance  from  school  had  awakened  my  father's 
anxiety;  for  I  one  day  heard  a  description  of  myself 
cried  before  the  very  booth  in  which  I  was  exhibiting, 
with  the  offer  of  a  reward  for  any  intelligence  of  me.  I 
had  no  great  scruple  about  letting  my  father  suffer  a 
little  uneasiness  on  my  account ;  it  would  punish  him  for 
past  indifference,  and  would  make  him  value  me  the 
more  when  he  found  me  again. 

I  have  wondered  that  some  of  my  comrades  did  not 
recognize  me  in  the  stray  sheep  that  was  cried ;  but  they 
were  all,  no  doubt,  occupied  by  their  own  concerns. 
They  were  all  laboring  seriously  in  their  antic  vocation ; 
for  folly  was  a  mere  trade  with  most  of  them,  and  they 
often  grinned  and  capered  with  heavy  hearts.     With  me, 


BXTGRTHORNE.  217 

on  the  contrary,  it  was  all  real.  I  acted  con  amore,  and 
rattled  and  laughed  from  the  irrepressible  gajety  of  my 
spirits.  It  is  true  that,  now  and  then,  I  started  and 
looked  grave  on  receiving  a  sudden  thwack  from  the 
wooden  sword  of  Harlequin  in  the  course  of  my  gambols, 
as  it  brought  to  mind  the  birch  of  my  schoolmaster.  But 
I  soon  got  accustomed  to  it,  and  bore  all  the  cuffing,  and 
kicking,  and  tumbling  about,  which  form  the  practical  wit 
of  your  itinerant  pantomime,  with  a  good-humor  that 
made  me  a  prodigious  favorite. 

The  country  campaign  of  the  troop  was  soon  at  an  end, 
and  we  set  off  for  the  metropolis,  to  perform  at  the  fairs 
which  are  held  in  its  vicinity.  The  greater  part  of  our 
theatrical  property  was  sent  on  direct,  to  be  in  a  state  of 
preparation  for  the  opening  of  the  fairs ;  while  a  detach- 
ment of  the  company  travelled  slowly  on,  foraging  among 
the  villages.  I  was  amused  with  the  desultory,  hap-haz- 
ard  kind  of  life  we  led ;  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow. 
Sometimes  revelling  in  ale-houses,  sometimes  feasting 
under  hedges  in  the  green  fields.  When  audiences  were 
crowded,  and  business  profitable,  we  fared  well ;  and 
when  otherwise,  we  fared  scantily,  consoled  ourselves, 
and  made  up  with  anticipations  of  the  next  day's  suc- 
cess. 

At  length  the  increasing  frequency  of  coaches  hurry- 
ing past  us,  covered  with  passengers  ;  the  increasing 
number  of  carriages,  carts,  wagons,  gigs,  droves  of  cattle 
and  flocks  of  sheep,  all  thronging  the  road ;  the  snug 


218  TALE8  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

country  boxes  witli  trim  flower-gardens,  twelve  feet 
square,  and  their  trees  twelve  feet  liigt,  all  powdered 
with  dust,  and  tlie  innumerable  seminaries  for  young 
ladies  and  gentlemen  situated  along  the  road  for  the 
benefit  of  country  air  and  rural  retirement ;  all  these 
insignia  announced  that  the  mighty  London  was  at  hand. 
The  hurry,  and  the  crowd,  and  the  bustle,  and  the  noise, 
and  the  dust,  increased  as  we  proceeded,  until  I  saw  the 
great  cloud  of  smoke  hanging  in  the  air,  like  a  canopy  of 
state,  over  this  queen  of  cities. 

In  this  way,  then,  did  I  enter  the  metropolis,  a  stroll- 
ing vagabond,  on  the  top  of  a  caravan,  with  a  crew  of 
vagabonds  about  me  ;  but  I  was  as  happy  as  a  prince ; 
for,  like  Prince  Hal,  I  felt  myself  superior  to  my  situa- 
tion, and  knew  that  I  could  at  any  time  cast  it  off,  and 
emerge  into  my  proper  sphere. 

How  my  eyes  sparkled  as  we  passed  Hyde  Park  Cor- 
ner, and  I  saw  splendid  equipages  rolling  by;  with 
powdered  footmen  behind,  in  rich  liveries,  with  fine 
nosegays,  and  gold-headed  canes ;  and  with  lovely  women 
within,  so  sumptuously  dressed,  and  so  surpassingly 
fair  !  I  was  always  extremely  sensible  to  female  beauty, 
and  here  I  saw  it  in  all  its  powers  of  fascination  :  for 
whatever  may  be  said  of  "  beauty  unadorned,"  there  is 
something  almost  awful  in  female  loveliness  decked  out 
in  jewelled  state.  The  swanlike  neck  encircled  with  dia- 
monds ;  the  raven  locks  clustered  with  pearls ;  the  ruby 
glowing  on  the  snowy  bosom,  are  objects  which  I  could 


BUGKTHOBNE.  219 

never  contemplate  witliout  emotion ;  and  a  dazzling 
wliite  arm  clasped  with  bracelets,  and  taper,  transpar- 
ent fingers,  laden  with  sparkling  rings,  are  to  me  irre- 
sistible. 

My  yerj  eyes  ached  as  I  gazed  at  the  high  and  courtly 
beauty  before  me.  It  surpassed  all  that  my  imagination 
had  conceived  of  the  sex.  I  shrank,  for  a  moment,  into 
shame  at  the  company  in  which  I  was  placed,  and  re- 
pined at  the  vast  distance  that  seemed  to  intervene 
between  me  and  these  magnificent  beings. 

I  forbear  to  give  a  detail  of  the  happy  life  I  led  about 
the  skirts  of  the  metropolis,  playing  at  the  various  fairs 
held  there  during  the  latter  part  of  spring,  and  the  be- 
ginning of  summer.  This  continued  change  from  place 
to  place,  and  scene  to  scene,  fed  my  imagination  with 
novelties,  and  kept  my  spirits  in  a  perpetual  state  of 
excitement.  As  I  was  tall  of  my  age,  I  aspired,  at  one 
time,  to  play  heroes  in  tragedy  ;  but,  after  two  or  three 
trials,  I  was  pronounced  by  the  manager  totally  unfit  for 
the  line  ;  and  our  first  tragic  actress,  who  was  a  large 
woman,  and  held  a  small  hero  in  abhorrence,  confirmed 
his  decision. 

The  fact  is,  I  had  attempted  to  give  point  to  language 
which  had  no  point,  and  nature  to  scenes  which  had  no 
nature.  They  said  I  did  not  fill  out  my  characters ;  and 
they  were  right.  The  characters  had  all  been  prepared 
for  a  different  sort  of  man.  Our  tragedy  hero  was  a 
round,  robustious  fellow,  with  an  amazing  voice;  who 


220  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

stamped  and  slapped  his  breast  until  his  wig  shook 
again;  and  who  roared  and  bellowed  out  his  bombast 
until  every  phrase  swelled  upon  the  ear  like  the  sound  of 
a  kettle-drum.  I  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  fill  out 
his  clothes  as  his  characters.  When  we  had  a  dialogue 
together,  I  was  nothing  before  him,  with  my  slender 
voice  and  discriminating  manner.  I  might  as  well  have 
attempted  to  parry  a  cudgel  with  a  small-sword.  If  he 
found  me  in  any  way  gaining  ground  upon  him,  he  would 
take  refuge  in  his  mighty  voice,  and  throw  his  tones  like 
peals  of  thunder  at  me,  until  they  were  drowned  in  the 
still  louder  thunders  of  applause  from  the  audience. 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  suspect  that  I  was  not  shown  fair 
play,  and  that  there  was  management  at  the  bottom ;  for 
without  vanity  I  think  I  was  a  better  actor  than  he.  As 
I  had  not  embarked  in  the  vagabond  line  through  ambi- 
tion, I  did  not  repine  at  lack  of  preferment ;  but  I  was 
grieved  to  find  that  a  vagrant  life  was  not  without  its 
cares  and  anxieties;  and  that  jealousies,  intrigues,  and 
mad  ambition,  were  to  be  found  even  among  vagabonds. 

Indeed,  as  I  became  more  familiar  with  my  situation, 
and  the  delusions  of  fancy  gradually  faded  away,  I  began 
to  find  that  my  associates  were  not  the  happy  careless 
creatures  I  had  at  first  imagined  them.  They  were  jeal- 
ous of  each  other's  talents ;  they  quarrelled  about  parts, 
the  same  as  the  actors  on  the  grand  theatres ;  they  quar- 
relled about  dresses ;  and  there  was  one  robe  of  yellow 
silk,  trimmed  with  red,  and  a  head-dress  of  three  rum- 


BUCKTHOBNE.  221 

pled  ostrich-feathers,  which  were  continually  setting  the 
ladies  of  the  company  by  the  ears.  Even  those  who  had 
attained  the  highest  honors  were  not  more  happy  than 
the  rest ;  for  Mr.  Flimsey  himself,  our  first  tragedian, 
and  apparently  a  jovial  good-humored  fellow,  confessed 
to  me  one  day,  in  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  that  he  was  a 
miserable  man.  He  had  a  brother-in-law,  a  relative  by 
marriage,  though  not  by  blood,  who  was  manager  of  a 
theatre  in  a  small  country  town.  And  this  same  brother 
("a  little  more  than  kin  but  less  than  kind")  looked 
down  upon  him,  and  treated  him  with  contumely,  be- 
cause, forsooth,  he  was  but  a  strolling  player.  I  tried  to 
console  him  with  the  thoughts  of  the  vast  applause  he 
daily  received,  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  He  declared  that 
it  gave  him  no  delight,  and  that  he  should  never  be  a 
happy  man,  until  the  name  of  Flimsey  rivalled  the  name 
of  Crimp. 

How  little  do  those  before  the  scenes  know  of  what 
passes  behind !  how  little  can  they  judge,  from  the  coun- 
tenances of  actors,  of  what  is  passing  in  their  hearts !  I 
have  known  two  lovers  quarrel  like  cats  behind  the 
scenes,  who  were,  the  moment  after,  to  fly  into  each 
other's  embraces.  And  I  have  dreaded,  when  our  Belvi- 
dera  was  to  take  her  farewell  kiss  of  her  Jaffier,  lest  she 
should  bite  a  piece  out  of  his  cheek.  Our  tragedian  was 
a  rough  joker  off  the  stage ;  our  prime  clown  the  most 
peevish  mortal  living.  The  latter  used  to  go  about  snap- 
ping and  snarling,  with  a  broad  laugh  painted  on  his 


222  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLEB, 


1 


countenance ;  and  I  can  assure  you,  tliat,  whatever  may 
be  said  of  the  gravity  of  a  monkey,  or  the  melancholy  of 
a  gibed  cat,  there  is  no  more  melancholy  creature  in  ex- 
istence than  a  mountebank  off  duty. 

The  only  thing  in  which  all  parties  agreed,  was  to 
backbite  the  manager,  and  cabal  against  his  regulations. 
This,  however,  I  have  since  discovered  to  be  a  common 
trait  of  human  nature,  and  to  take  place  in  all  communi- 
ties. It  would  seem  to  be  the  main  business  of  man  to 
repine  at  government.  In  all  situations  of  life,  into  which 
I  have  looked,  I  have  found  mankind  divided  into  two 
grand  parties  :  those  who  ride,  and  those  who  are  ridden. 
The  great  struggle  of  life  seems  to  be  which  shall  keep  in 
the  saddle.  This,  it  appears  to  me,  is  the  fundamental 
principle  of  politics,  whether  in  great  or  little  life. 
However,  I  do  not  mean  to  moralize — ^but  one  cannot 
always  sink  the  philosopher. 

Well,  then,  to  return  to  myself,  it  was  determined,  as  I 
said,  that  I  was  not  fit  for  tragedy,  and  unluckily,  as 
my  study  was  bad,  having  a  very  poor  memory,  I  was 
pronounced  unfit  for  comedy  also ;  besides,  the  line  of 
young  gentlemen  was  already  engrossed  by  an  actor 
with  whom  I  could  not  pretend  to  enter  into  competition, 
he  having  filled  it  for  almost  half  a  century.  I  came 
down  again,  therefore,  to  pantomime.  In  consequence, 
however,  of  the  good  offices  of  the  manager's  lady,  who 
had  taken  a  liking  to  me,  I  was  promoted  from  the  part 
of  the   satyr  to  that   of  the   lover ;   and  with  my  face 


BUGKTHOBNE.  223 

patched  and  painted,  a  huge  cravat  of  paper,  a  steeple- 
crowned  hat,  and  dangling  long-skirted  sky-blue  coat, 
was  metamorphosed  into  the  lover  of  Columbine.  My 
part  did  not  call  for  much  of  the  tender  and  sentimentaL 
I  had  merely  to  pursue  the  fugitive  fair  one  ;  to  have  a 
door  now  and  then  slammed  in  my  face ;  fco  run  my 
head  occasionally  against  a  post ;  to  tumble  and  roll 
about  with  Pantaloon  and  the  Clown ;  and  to  endure  the 
hearty  thwacks  of  Hailequin's  wooden  sword. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  my  poetical  temperament 
began  to  ferment  within  me,  and  to  work  out  new 
troubles.  The  inflammatory  air  of  a  great  metropolis, 
added  to  the  rural  scenes  in  which  the  fairs  were  held, 
such  as  Greenwich  Park,  Epping  Forest,  and  the  lovely 
valley  of  the  West  End,  had  a  powerful  effect  upon  me. 
While  in  Greenwich  Park,  I  was  witness  to  the  old 
holiday  games  of  running  down-hill,  and  kissing  in  the 
ring ;  and  then  the  firmament  of  blooming  faces  and  blue 
eyes  that  would  be  turned  towards  me,  as  I  was  playing 
antics  on  the  stage ;  all  these  set  my  young  blood  and 
my  poetical  vein  in  full  flow.  In  short,  I  played  the 
character  to  the  life,  and  became  desperately  enamored 
of  Columbine.  She  was  a  trim,  well-made,  tempting 
girl,  with  a  roguish  dimpling  face,  and  fine  chestnut 
hair  clustering  all  about  it.  The  moment  I  got  fairly 
smitten,  there  was  an  end  to  all  playing.  I  was  such 
a  creature  of  fancy  and  feeling,  that  I  could  not  put  on  a 
pretended,  when  I  was  powerfully  affected  by  a  reaJ 


224  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLUM. 

emotion.  I  could  not  sport  witli  a  fiction  that  came  so 
near  to  the  fact.  I  became  too  natural  in  my  acting  to 
succeed.  And  then,  what  a  situation  for  a  lover  !  I  was 
a  mere  stripling,  and  she  played  with  my  passion ;  for 
girls  soon  grow  more  adroit  and  knowing  in  these  mat- 
ters than  your  awkward  youngsters.  What  agonies  had 
I  to  suffer !  Every  time  that  she  danced  in  front  of  the 
booth,  and  made  such  liberal  displays  of  her  charms,  I 
was  in  torment.  To  complete  my  misery,  I  had  a  real 
rival  in  Harlequin,  an  active,  vigorous,  knowing  varlet,  of 
six-and-twenty.  What  had  a  raw,  inexperienced  young- 
ster like  me  to  hope  from  such  a  competition  ? 

I  had  still,  however,  some  advantages  in  my  favor.  In 
spite  of  my  change  of  life,  I  retained  that  indescribable 
something  which  always  distinguishes  the  gentleman: 
that  something  which  dwells  in  a  man's  air  and  deport- 
ment, and  not  in  his  clothes ;  and  which  is  as  difficult  for 
a  gentleman  to  put  off,  as  for  a  vulgar  fellow  to  put  on. 
The  company  generally  felt  it,  and  used  to  call  me  Little 
Gentleman  Jack.  The  girl  felt  it  too,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
predilection  for  my  powerful  rival,  she  liked  to  flirt  with 
me.  This  only  aggravated  my  troubles,  by  increasing  my 
passion,  and  awakening  the  jealousy  of  her  party-colored 
lover. 

Alas !  think  what  I  suffered  at  being  obliged  to  keep 
up  an  ineffectual  chase  after  my  Columbine  through 
whole  pantomimes ;  to  see  her  carried  off  in  the  vigorous 
arms  of  the  happy  Harlequin ;  and  to  be  obliged,  instead 


BUGKTEOBNE.  225 

of  snatching  her  from  him,  to  tumble  sprawling  with 
Pantaloon  and  the  Clown,  and  bear  the  infernal  and  de- 
grading thwacks  of  my  rival's  weapon  of  lath,  which,  may 
heaven  confound  him!  (excuse  my  passion,)  the  villain 
laid  on  with  a  malicious  good-will:  nay,  I  could  abso- 
lutely hear  him  chuckle  and  laugh  beneath  his  accursed 
mask — I  beg  pardon  for  growing  a  little  warm  in  my  nar- 
rative— ^I  wish  to  be  cool,  but  these  recollections  will 
sometimes  agitate  me.  I  have  heard  and  read  of  many 
desperate  and  deplorable  situations  of  lovers,  but  none,  I 
think,  in  which  true  love  was  ever  exposed  to  so  severe 
and  peculiar  a  trial. 

This  could  not  last  long ;  flesh  and  blood,  at  least  such 
flesh  and  blood  as  mine,  could  not  bear  it.  I  had  re- 
peated heart-burnings  and  quarrels  with  my  rival,  in 
which  he  treated  me  with  the  mortifying  forbearance  of  a 
man  towards  a  child.  Had  he  quarrelled  outright  with 
me,  I  could  have  stomached  it,  at  least  I  should  have 
known  what  part  to  take ;  but  to  be  humored  and  treated 
as  a  child  in  the  presence  of  my  mistress,  when  I  felt  all 
the  bantam  spirit  of  a  little  man  swelling  within  me — 
Gods !  it  was  insufferable ! 

At  length,  we  were  exhibiting  one  day  at  "West  End 

fair,  which  was  at  that  time  a  very  fashionable  resort, 

and   often  beleaguered  with  gay   equipages   from  town. 

Among  the  spectators  that  filled  the  first  row  of  our  little 

canvas  theatre  one  afternoon,  when  I  had  to  figure  in  a 

pantomime,  were  a  number  of  young  ladies  from  a  board- 
15 


226  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

ing~school,  with  their  governess.  Guess  my  confusion, 
when,  in  the  midst  of  mj  antics,  I  beheld  among  the 
number  my  quondam  flame ;  her  whom  I  had  berhymed 
at  school,  her  for  whose  charms  I  had  smarted  so 
severely,  the  cruel  Sacharissa!  What  was  worse,  I 
fancied  she  recollected  me,  and  was  repeating  the  story 
of  my  humiliating  flagellation,  for  I  saw  her  whispering 
to  her  companions  and  her  governess.  I  lost  all  con- 
sciousness of  the  part  I  was  acting,  and  of  the  place 
where  I  was.  I  felt  shrunk  to  nothing,  and  could  have 
crept  into  a  rat-hole, — unluckily,  none  was  open  to  re- 
ceive me.  Before  I  could  recover  from  my  confusion,  I 
was  tumbled  over  by  Pantaloon  and  the  Clown,  and  I  felt 
the  sword  of  Harlequin  making  vigorous  assaults  in  a 
manner  most  degrading  to  my  dignity. 

Heaven  and  earth !  was  I  again  to  suffer  martyrdom  in 
this  ignominious  manner,  in  the  knowledge,  and  even  be- 
fore the  very  eyes  of  this  most  beautiful,  but  most  dis- 
dainful of  fair  ones  ?  All  my  long-smothered  wrath  broke 
out  at  once ;  the  dormant  feelings  of  the  gentleman  arose 
within  me.  Stung  to  the  quick  by  intolerable  mortifica- 
tion, I  sprang  on  my  feet  in  an  instant ;  leaped  upon 
Harlequin  like  a  young  tiger ;  tore  off  his  mask ;  buffeted 
him  in  the  face ;  and  soon  shed  more  blood  on  the  stage 
than  had  been  spilt  upon  it  during  a  whole  tragic  cam- 
paign of  battles  and  murders. 

As  soon  as  Harlequin  recovered  from  his  surprise,  he 
returned  my  assault  with  interest.     I  was  nothing  in  his 


BUGETHOENE.  227 

hands.  I  was  game,  to  be  sure,  for  I  was  a  gentleman ; 
but  lie  had  the  clownish  advantage  of  bone  and  muscle. 
I  felt  as  if  I  could  have  fought  even  unto  the  death ;  and 
I  was  likely  to  do  so,  for  he  was,  according  to  the  boxing 
phrase,  "putting  my  head  into  chancery,"  when  the 
gentle  Columbine  flew  to  my  assistance.  God  bless  the 
women!  they  are  always  on  the  side  of  the  weak  and 
the  oppressed! 

The  battle  now  became  general ;  the  dramatis  personse 
ranged  on  either  side.  The  manager  interposed  in  vain ; 
in  vain  were  his  spangled  black  bonnet  and  towering 
white  feathers  seen  whisking  about,  and  nodding,  and 
bobbing  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight.  Warriors,  ladies, 
priests,  satyrs,  kings,  queens,  gods,  and  goddesses,  all 
joined  pell-mell  in  the  affray;  never,  since  the  conflict 
under  the  walls  of  Troy,  had  there  been  such  a  chance- 
medley  warfare  of  combatants,  human  and  divine.  The 
audience  applauded,  the  ladies  shrieked,  and  fled  from 
the  theatre ;  and  a  scene  of  discord  ensued  that  baffles  all 
description. 

Nothing  but  the  interference  of  the  peace-officers 
restored  some  degree  of  order.  The  havoc,  however, 
among  dresses  and  decorations,  put  an  end  to  all  further 
acting  for  that  day.  The  battle  over,  the  next  thing  was 
to  inquire  why  it  was  begun  :  a  common  question  among 
politicians  after  a  bloody  and  unprofitable  war,  and  one 
not  always  easy  to  be  answered.  It  was  soon  traced  to 
me,  and  my  unaccountable  transport  of  passion,  which 


228  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

they  could  only  attribute  to  my  having  run  a  much  The 
manager  was  judge  and  jury,  and  plaintiff  into  the  bar- 
gain; and  in  such  cases  justice  is  always  speedily  admin- 
istered. He  came  out  of  the  fight  as  sublime  a  wreck  as 
the  Santissima  Trinidada.  His  gallant  plumes,  which 
once  towered  aloft,  were  drooping  about  his  ears;  his 
robe  of  state  hung  in  ribbons  from  his  back,  and  but  ill 
concealed  the  ravages  he  had  suffered  in  the  rear.  He 
had  received  kicks  and  cuffs  from  all  sides  during  the 
tumult ;  for  every  one  took  the  opportunity  of  slyly  grati- 
fying some  lurking  grudge  on  his  fat  carcass.  He  was  a 
discreet  man,  and  did  not  choose  to  declare  war  with  all 
his  company,  so  he  swore  all  those  kicks  and  cuffs  had 
been  given  by  me,  and  I  let  him  enjoy  the  opinion. 
Some  wounds  he  bore,  however,  which  were  the  incon- 
testable traces  of  a  woman's  warfare  :  his  sleek  rosy  cheek 
was  scored  by  trickling  furrows,  which  were  ascribed  to 
the  nails  of  my  intrepid  and  devoted  Columbine.  The  ire 
of  the  monarch  was  not  to  be  appeased  ;  he  had  suffered 
in  his  person,  and  he  had  suffered  in  his  purse ;  his  dig- 
nity, too,  had  been  insulted,  and  that  went  for  something ; 
for  dignity  is  always  more  irascible,  the  more  petty  the 
potentate.  He  wreaked  his  wrath  upon  the  beginners  of 
the  affray,  and  Columbine  and  myself  were  discharged,  at 
once,  from  the  company. 

Figure  me,  then,  to  yourself,  a  stripling  of  little  more 
than  sixteen,  a  gentleman  by  birth,  a  vagabond  by  trade, 
turned  adrift  upon  the  world,  making  the  best  of  my  way 


BTTCKTHOBNE.  229 

through  the  crowd  of  West  End  fair;  my  mountebank 
dress  fluttering  in  rags  about  me ;  the  weeping  Colum- 
bine hanging  upon  my  arm,  in  splendid  but  tattered 
finery ;  the  tears  coursing  one  by  one  down  her  face,  car- 
rying off  the  red  paint  in  torrents,  and  literally  "  preying 
upon  her  damask  cheek." 

The  crowd  made  way  for  us  as  we  passed,  and  hooted 
in  our  rear.  I  felt  the  ridicule  of  my  situation,  but  had 
too  much  gallantry  to  desert  this  fair  one,  who  had  sac- 
rificed everything  for  me.  Having  wandered  through 
the  fair,  we  emerged,  like  another  Adam  and  Eve,  into 
unknown  regions,  and  "  had  the  world  before  us  where  to 
choose."  Never  was  a  more  disconsolate  pair  seen  in  the 
soft  valley  of  West  End.  The  luckless  Columbine  cast 
many  a  lingering  look  at  the  fair,  which  seemed  to  put  on 
a  more  than  usual  splendor :  its  tents,  and  booths,  and 
party-colored  groups,  all  brightening  in  the  sunshine,  and 
gleaming  among  the  trees  ;  and  its  gay  flags  and  stream- 
ers fluttering  in  the  light  summer  airs.  With  a  heavy 
sigh  she  would  lean  on  my  arm  and  proceed.  I  had  no 
hope  nor  consolation  to  give  her ;  but  she  had  linked 
herself  to  my  fortunes,  and  she  was  too  much  of  a  woman 
to  desert  me. 

Pensive  and  silent,  then,  we  traversed  the  beautiful 
fields  which  lie  behind  Hampstead,  and  wandered  on, 
until  the  fiddle,  and  the  hautboy,  and  the  shout,  and  the 
laugh,  were  swallowed  up  in  the  deep  sound  of  the  big 
bass-drum,  and  even  that  died  away  into  a  distant  rum* 


230  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

ble.  We  passed  along  the  pleasant,  sequestered  walk  of 
Nightingale  Lane.  For  a  pair  of  lovers,  what  scene 
could  be  more  propitious? — But  such  a  pair  of  lovers! 
Not  a  nightingale  sang  to  soothe  us :  the  very  gypsies, 
who  were  encamped  there  during  the  fair,  made  no  offer 
to  tell  the  fortunes  of  such  an  ill-omened  couple,  whose 
fortunes,  I  suppose,  they  thought  too  legibly  written  to 
need  an  interpreter ;  and  the  gypsy  children  crawled  into 
their  cabins,  and  peeped  out  fearfully  at  us  as  we  went 
by.  For  a  moment  I  paused,  and  was  almost  tempted  to 
turn  gypsy,  but  the  poetical  feeling,  for  the  present,  was 
fully  satisfied,  and  I  passed  on.  Thus  we  travelled  and 
travelled,  like  a  prince  and  princess  in  a  nursery  tale, 
until  we  had  traversed  a  part  of  Hampstead  Heath,  and 
arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  Jack  Straw's  Castle.  Here, 
wearied  and  dispirited,  we  seated  ourselves  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  hill,  hard  by  the  very  milestone  where  Whit- 
tington  of  yore  heard  the  Bow-bells  ring  out  the  presage 
of  his  future  greatness.  Alas  !  no  bell  rung  an  invitation 
to  us,  as  we  looked  disconsolately  upon  the  distant  city. 
Old  London  seemed  to  wrap  itself  unsociably  in  its  man- 
tle of  brown  smoke,  and  to  offer  no  encouragement  to 
such  a  couple  of  tatterdemalions. 

For  once,  at  least,  the  usual  course  of  the  pantomime 
was  reversed,  Harlequin  was  jilted,  and  the  lover  had 
carried  off  Columbine  in  good  earnest.  But  what  was 
I  to  do  with  her  ?  I  could  not  take  her  in  my  hand, 
return  to   my  father,  throw  myself   on   my  knees,  and 


BUCKTHOBNE.  231 

crave  his  forgiveness  and  blessing,  according  to  dramatic 
usage.  The  very  dogs  Y>rould  have  chased  such  a  drag- 
gled-tailed  beauty  from  the  grounds. 

In  the  midst  of  my  doleful  dumps,  some  one  tapped 
me  on  the  shoulder,  and,  looking  up,  I  saw  a  couple  of 
rough  sturdy  fellows  standing  behind  me.  Not  knowing 
what  to  expect,  I  jumped  on  my  legs,  and  was  preparing 
again  to  make  battle,  but  was  tripped  up  and  secured  in 
a  twinkling. 

"  Come,  come,  young  master,"  said  one  of  the  fellows 
in  a  gruff  but  good-humored  tone,  "  don't  let's  have  any 
of  your  tantrums ;  one  would  have  thought  you  had  had 
swing  enough  for  this  bout.  Come  ;  it's  high  time  to 
leave  off  harlequinading,  and  go  home  to  your  father." 

In  fact,  I  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  remorseless 
men.  The  cruel  Sacharissa  had  proclaimed  who  I  was, 
and  that  a  reward  had  been  offered  throughout  the  coun- 
try for  any  tidings  of  me ;  and  they  had  seen  a  descrip- 
tion of  me  which  had  been  inserted  in  the  public  papers. 
Those  harpies,  therefore,  for  the  mere  sake  of  filthy 
lucre,  were  resolved  to  deliver  me  over  into  the  hands  of 
my  father,  and  the  clutches  of  my  pedagogue. 

In  vain  I  swore  I  would  not  leave  my  faithful  and 
afflicted  Columbine.  In  vain  I  tore  myself  from  their 
grasp,  and  flew  to  her,  and  vowed  to  protect  her ;  and 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  cheek,  and  with  them  a  whole 
blush  that  might  have  vied  with  the  carnation  for  bril- 
liancy.     My    persecutors    were    inflexible ;    they    even 


232  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

seemed  to  exult  in  our  distress ;  and  to  enjoy  tliis  the- 
atrical display  of  dirt,  and  finery,  and  tribulation.  1 
was  carried  off  in  despair,  leaving  my  Columbine  desti- 
tute in  the  wide  world ;  but  many  a  look  of  agony  did  I 
cast  back  at  her  as  she  stood  gazing  piteously  after  me 
from  the  brink  of  Hampstead  Hill ;  so  forlorn,  so  fine,  so 
ragged,  so  bedraggled,  yet  so  beautiful. 

Thus  ended  my  first  peep  into  the  world.  I  returned 
home,  rich  in  good-for-nothing  experience,  and  dreading 
the  reward  I  was  to  receive  for  my  improvement.  My 
reception,  however,  was  quite  different  from  what  I  had 
expected.  My  father  had  a  spice  of  the  devil  in  him,  and 
did  not  seem  to  like  me  the  worse  for  my  freak,  which  he 
termed  "  sowing  my  wild  oats."  He  happened  to  have 
some  of  his  sporting  friends  to  dine  the  very  day  of  my 
return ;  they  made  me  tell  some  of  my  adventures,  and 
laughed  heartily  at  them. 

One  old  fellow,  with  an  outrageously  red  nose,  took  to 
me  hugely.  I  heard  him  whisper  to  my  father  that  I  was 
a  lad  of  mettle,  and  might  make  something  clever;  to 
which  my  father  replied,  that  I  had  good  points,  but  was 
an  ill-broken  whelp,  and  required  a  great  deal  of  the 
whip.  Perhaps  this  very  conversation  raised  me  a  little 
in  his  esteem,  for  I  found  the  red-nosed  old  gentleman 
was  a  veteran  fox-hunter  of  the  neighborhood,  for  whose 
opinion  my  father  had  vast  deference.  Indeed,  I  be- 
lieve he  would  have  pardoned  anything  in  me  more 
readily  than  poetry,  which  he  called  a  cursed,  sneaking, 


BUCKTEOBNE.  233 

puling,  housekeeping  employment,  the  bane  of  all  fine 
manhood.  He  swore  it  was  unworthy  of  a  youngster  of 
my  expectations,  who  was  one  day  to  have  so  great  an 
estate,  and  would  be  able  to  keep  horses  and  hounds,  and 
hire  poets  to  write  songs  for  him  into  the  bargain. 

I  had  now  satisfied,  for  a  time,  my  roving  propensity. 
I  had  exhausted  the  poetical  feeling.  I  had  been  heart- 
ily buffeted  out  of  my  love  for  theatrical  display.  I 
felt  humiliated  by  my  exposure,  and  willing  to  hide  my 
head  anywhere  for  a  season,  so  that  I  might  be  out  of 
the  way  of  the  ridicule  of  the  world ;  for  I  found  folks 
not  altogether  so  indulgent  abroad  as  they  were  at  my 
father's  table.  I  could  not  stay  at  home  ;  the  house  was 
intolerably  doleful  now  that  my  mother  was  no  longer 
there  to  cherish  me.  Everything  around  spoke  mourn- 
fully of  her.  The  little  flower-garden  in  which  she  de- 
lighted, was  all  in  disorder  and  overrun  with  weeds.  1 
attempted  for  a  day  or  two  to  arrange  it,  but  my  heart 
grew  heavier  and  heavier  as  I  labored.  Every  little 
broken-down  flower,  that  I  had  seen  her  rear  so  ten- 
derly, seemed  to  plead  in  mute  eloquence  to  my  feelings. 
There  was  a  favorite  honeysuckle  which  I  had  seen  her 
often  training  with  assiduity,  and  had  heard  her  say  it 
would  be  the  pride  of  her  garden.  I  found  it  grovelling 
along  the  ground,  tangled  and  wild,  and  twining  round 
every  worthless  weed ;  and  it  struck  me  as  an  emblem  of 
myself,  a  mere  scatterling,  running  to  waste  and  useless- 
ness.     I  could  work  no  longer  in  the  garden. 


234  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

My  father  sent  me  to  pay  a  visit  to  my  uncle,  by  way 
of  keeping  the  old  gentleman  in  mind  of  me.  I  was  re- 
ceived, as  usual,  without  any  expression  of  discontent, 
which  we  always  considered  equivalent  to  a  hearty  wel- 
come. Whether  he  had  ever  heard  of  my  strolling  freak 
or  not,  I  could  not  discover,  he  and  his  man  were  both  so 
taciturn.  I  spent  a  day  or  two  roaming  about  the  dreary 
mansion  and  neglected  park,  and  felt  at  one  time,  I  be- 
lieve, a  touch  of  poetry,  for  I  was  tempted  to  drown  my- 
self in  a  fish-pond ;  I  rebuked  the  evil  spirit,  howevet, 
and  it  left  me.  I  found  the  same  red-headed  boy  running 
wild  about  the  park,  but  I  felt  in  no  humor  to  hunt  him 
at  present.  On  the  contrary,  I  tried  to  coax  him  to  me, 
and  to  make  friends  with  him ;  but  the  young  savage  was 
untamable. 

When  I  returned  from  my  uncle's,  I  remained  at  home 
for  some  time,  for  my  father  was  disposed,  he  said,  to 
make  a  man  of  me.  He  took  me  out  hunting  with  him, 
and  I  became  a  great  favorite  of  the  red-nosed  squire, 
because  I  rode  at  everything,  never  refused  the  boldest 
leap,  and  was  always  sure  to  be  in  at  the  death.  I  used 
often,  however,  to  offend  my  father  at  hunting-dinners, 
by  taking  the  wrong  side  in  politics.  My  father  was 
amazingly  ignorant,  so  ignorant,  in  fact,  as  not  to  know 
that  he  knew  nothing.  He  was  stanch,  however,  to 
church  and  king,  and  full  of  old-fashioned  prejudices. 
Now  I  had  picked  up  a  little  knowledge  in  politics  and 
religion  during  my  rambles  with  the  strollers,  and  found 


BUGKTEOBNE.  235 

myself  capable  of  setting  liim  right  as  to  many  of  his 
antiquated  notions.  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  do  so  ;  we  were 
apt,  therefore,  to  differ  occasionally  in  the  political  dis- 
cussions which  sometimes  arose  at  those  hunting-din- 
ners. 

I  was  at  that  age  when  a  man  knows  least,  and  is  most 
vain  of  his  knowledge,  and  when  he  is  extremely  tena- 
cious in  defending  his  opinion  upon  subjects  about  which 
he  knows  nothing.  My  father  was  a  hard  man  for  any 
one  to  argue  with,  for  he  never  knew  when  he  was  re- 
futed. I  sometimes  posed  him  a  little,  but  then  he  had 
one  argument  that  always  settled  the  question ;  he  would 
threaten  to  knock  me  down.  I  believe  he  at  last  grew 
tired  of  me,  because  I  both  out-talked  and  out-rode  him. 
The  red-nosed  squire,  too,  got  out  of  conceit  with  me, 
because,  in  the  heat  of  the  chase,  I  rode  over  him  one 
day  as  he  and  his  horse  lay  sprawling  in  the  dirt :  so  I 
found  myself  getting  into  disgrace  with  all  the  world,  and 
would  have  got  heartily  out  of  humor  with  myself,  had  I 
not  been  kept  in  tolerable  self-conceit  by  the  parson's 
three  daughters. 

They  were  the  same  who  had  admired  my  poetry  on  a 
former  occasion,  when  it  had  brought  me  into  disgrace  at 
school;  and  I  had  ever  since  retained  an  exalted  idea 
of  their  judgment.  Indeed,  they  were  young  ladies  not 
merely  of  taste  but  of  science.  Their  education  had  been 
superintended  by  their  mother,  who  was  a  blue-stocking. 
They  knew  enough  of  botany  to  tell  the  technical  names 


236  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

oi  all  tlie  flowers  in  tlie  garden,  and  all  their  secret  con- 
cerns into  the  bargain.  They  knew  music,  too,  not  mere 
commonplace  music,  but  Rossini  and  Mozart,  and  they 
sang  Moore's  Irish  Melodies  to  perfection.  They  had 
pretty  little  work-tables,  covered  with  all  kinds  of  objects 
of  taste  :  specimens  of  lava,  and  painted  eggs,  and  work- 
boxes,  painted  and  varnished  by  themselves.  They  ex- 
celled in  knotting  and  netting,  and  painted  in  water- 
colors;  and  made  feather  fans,  and  fire-screens,  and 
worked  in  silks  and  worsteds ;  and  talked  French  and 
Italian,  and  knew  Shakspeare  by  heart.  They  even 
knew  something  of  geology  and  mineralogy ;  and  went 
about  the  neighborhood  knocking  stones  to  pieces,  to  the 
great  admiration  and  perplexity  of  the  country  folk. 

I  am  a  little  too  minute,  perhaps,  in  detailing  theii 
accomplishments,  but  I  wish  to  let  you  see  that  these 
were  not  commonplace  young  ladies,  but  had  pretensions 
quite  above  the  ordinary  run.  It  was  some  consolation 
to  me,  therefore,  to  find  favor  in  such  eyes.  Indeed,  they 
had  always  marked  me  out  for  a  genius,  and  considered 
my  late  vagrant  freak  as  fresh  proof  of  the  fact.  They 
observed  that  Shakspeare  himself  had  been  a  mere  pickle 
in  his  youth;  that  he  had  stolen  a  deer,  as  every  one 
knew,  and  kept  loose  company,  and  consorted  with 
actors :  so  I  comforted  myself  marvellously  with  the 
idea  of  having  so  decided  a  Shakspearian  trait  in  my 
character. 

The  youngest  of  the  three,  however,  was  my  grand  con' 


BVCKTHOBNE,  237 

solation.  She  was  a  pale,  sentimental  girl,  with  long 
"  hyacin thine "  ringlets  hanging  about  her  face.  She 
wrote  poetry  herself,  and  we  kept  up  a  poetical  corre- 
spondence. She  had  a  taste  for  the  drama,  too,  and  I 
taught  her  how  to  act  several  of  the  scenes  in  "  Eomeo 
and  Juliet."  I  used  to  rehearse  the  garden-scene  under 
hfer  lattice,  which  looked  out  from  among  woodbine  and 
honeysuckles  into  the  church-yard.  I  began  to  think 
her  amazingly  pretty  as  well  as  clever,  and  I  believe  I 
should  have  finished  by  falling  in  love  with  her,  had  not 
her  father  discovered  our  theatrical  studies.  He  was  a 
studious,  abstracted  man,  generally  too  much  absorbed 
in  his  learned  and  religious  labors  to  notice  the  little 
foibles  of  his  daughters,  and  perhaps  blinded  by  a 
father's  fondness  ;  but  he  unexpectedly  put  his  head  out 
of  his  study- window  one  day  in  the  midst  of  a  scene,  and 
put  a  stop  to  our  rehearsals.  He  had  a  vast  deal  of  that 
prosaic  good  sense  which  I  forever  found  a  stumbling- 
block  in  my  poetical  path.  My  rambling  freak  had  not 
struck  the  good  man  as  poetically  as  it  had  his  daughters. 
He  drew  his  comparison  from  a  different  manual.  He 
looked  upon  me  as  a  prodigal  son,  and  doubted  whether 
I  should  ever  arrive  at  the  happy  catastrophe  of  the 
fatted  calf. 

I  fancy  some  intimation  was  given  to  my  father  of  this 
new  breaking  out  of  my  poetical  temperament,  for  he 
suddenly  intimated  that  it  was  high  time  I  should  pre- 
pare   for    the  university.      I   dreaded   a  return   to  the 


238  TALES  OP  A  TRAVELLEU. 

school  whence  I  had  eloped :  the  ridicule  of  my  fellow- 
scholars,  and  the  glance  from  the  squire's  pew,  would 
have  been  worse  than  death  to  me.  I  was  fortunately 
spared  the  humilration.  My  father  sent  me  to  board 
with  a  country  gentleman,  who  had  three  or  four  boys 
under  his  care.  I  went  to  him  joyfully,  for  I  had  often 
heard  my  mother  mention  him  with  esteem.  In  fact  he 
had  been  an  admirer  of  hers  in  his  younger  days,  though 
too  humble  in  fortune  and  modest  in  pretentions  to 
aspire  to  her  hand ;  but  he  had  ever  retained  a  tender 
regard  for  her.  He  was  a  good  man ;  a  worthy  specimen 
of  that  valuable  body  of  our  country  clergy  who  silently 
and  unostentatiously  do  a  vast  deal  of  good  ;  who  are,  as 
it  were,  woven  into  the  whole  system  of  rural  life,  and 
operate  upon  it  with  the  steady  yet  unobtrusive  influence 
of  temperate  piety  and  learned  good  sense.  He  lived  in 
a.  small  village  not  far  from  Warwick,  one  of  those  little 
communities  where  the  scanty  flock  is,  in  a  manner, 
folded  into  the  bosom  of  the  pastor.  The  venerable 
church,  in  its  grass-grown  cemetery,  was  one  of  those 
rural  temples  scattered  about  our  country  as  if  to  sanc- 
tify the  land. 

I  have  the  worthy  pastor  before  my  mind's  eye  at  this 
moment,  with  his  mild  benevolent  countenance,  rendered 
still  more  venerable  by  his  silver  hairs.  I  have  him  be- 
fore me,  as  I  saw  him  on  my  arrival,  seated  in  the  embow- 
ered porch  of  his  small  parsonage,  with  a  flower-garden 
before  it,  and  his  pupils  gathered  round  him  like  his 


BUGKTHOBNE.  ^39 

children.  I  shall  never  forget  his  reception  of  me  ;  for  I 
believe  he  thought  of  my  poor  mother  at  the  time,  and 
his  heart  yearned  towards  her  child.  His  eye  glistened 
when  he  received  me  at  the  door,  and  he  took  me  into 
his  arms  as  the  adopted  child  of  his  affections.  Never 
had  I  been  so  fortunately  placed.  He  was  one  of  those 
excellent  members  of  our  church,  who  help  out  their 
narrow  salaries  by  instructing  a  few  gentlemen's  sons.  I 
am  convinced  those  little  seminaries  are  among  the  best 
nurseries  of  talent  and  virtue  in  the  land.  Both  heart 
and  mind  are  cultivated  and  improved.  The  preceptor 
is  the  companion  and  the  friend  of  his  pupils.  His 
sacred  character  gives  him  dignity  in  their  eyes,  and  his 
solemn  functions  produce  that  elevation  of  mind  and 
sobriety  of  conduct  necessary  to  those  who  are  to  teach 
youth  to  think  and  act  worthily. 

I  speak  from  my  own  random  observation  and  experi- 
ence ;  but  I  think  I  speak  correctly.  At  any  rate,  I  can 
trace  much  of  what  is  good  in  my  own  heterogeneous 
compound  to  the  short  time  1  was  under  the  instruction 
of  that  good  man.  He  entered  into  the  cares  and  occu- 
pations and  amusements  of  his  pupils  ;  and  won  his  way 
into  our  confidence,  and  studied  our  hearts  and  minds 
more  intently  than  we  did  our  books. 

He  soon  sounded  the  depth  of  my  character.  I  had 
become,  as  I  have  already  hinted,  a  little  liberal  in  my 
notions,  and  apt  to  philosophize  on  both  politics  and 
religion ;  having  seen  something  of  men  and  things,  and 


240  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

learnt,  from  my  fellow-philosopliers,  tlie  strollers,  to 
despise  all  vulgar  prejudices.  He  did  not  attempt  to 
cast  down  my  vainglory,  nor  to  question  my  right  view  of 
things ;  he  merely  instilled  into  my  mind  a  little  infor- 
mation on  these  topics ;  though  in  a  quiet  unobtrusive 
way,  that  never  ruffled  a  feather  of  my  self-conceit.  I 
was  astonished  to  find  what  a  change  a  little  knowledge 
makes  in  one's  mode  of  viewing  matters  ;  and  how  differ- 
ent a  subject  is  when  one  thinks,  or  when  one  only  talks 
about  it.  I  conceived  a  vast  deference  for  my  teacher, 
and  was  ambitious  of  his  good  opinion.  In  my  zeal  to 
make  a  favorable  impression,  I  presented  him  with  a 
whole  ream  of  my  poetry.  He  read  it  attentively, 
smiled,  and  pressed  my  hand  when  he  returned  it  to  me, 
but  said  nothing.  The  next  day  he  set  me  at  mathe- 
matics. 

Somehow  or  other  the  process  of  teaching  seemed 
robbed  by  him  of  all  its  austerity.  I  was  not  conscious 
that  he  thwarted  an  inclination  or  opposed  a  wish ;  but 
I  felt  that,  for  the  time,  my  inclinations  were  entirely 
changed.  I  became  fond  of  study,  and  zealous  to  im- 
prove myself.  I  made  tolerable  advances  in  studies 
which  I  had  before  considered  as  unattainable,  and  I 
wondered  at  my  own  proficiency.  I  thought,  too,  I 
astonished  my  preceptor  ;  for  I  often  caught  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  me  with  a  peculiar  expression.  I  suspect, 
since,  that  he  was  pensively  tracing  in  my  countenance 
the  early  lineaments  of  my  mother. 


BUGKTEOBNE.  241 

Education  was  not  apportioned  by  him  into  tasks,  and 
enjoined  as  a  labor,  to  be  abandoned  with  joy  the  moment 
the  hour  of  study  was  expired.  We  had,  it  is  true,  our 
allotted  hours  of  occupation,  to  give  us  habits  of  method, 
and  of  the  distribution  of  time  ;  but  they  were  made 
pleasant  to  us,  and  our  feelings  were  enlisted  in  the 
cause.  When  they  were  oyer,  education  still  went  on. 
It  pervaded  all  our  relaxations  and  amusements.  There 
was  a  steady  march  of  improvement.  Much  of  his  in- 
struction was  given  during  pleasant  rambles,  or  when 
seated  on  the  margin  of  the  Avon ;  and  information 
received  in  that  way,  often  makes  a  deeper  impression 
than  when  acquired  by  poring  over  books.  I  have 
many  of  the  pure  and  eloquent  precepts  that  flowed 
from  his  lips  associated  in  my  mind  with  lovely  scenes 
in  nature,  which  make  the  recollection  of  them  indescri- 
bably delightful. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  say  that  any  miracle  was  effected 
with  me.  After  all  said  and  done,  I  was  but  a  weak 
disciple.  My  poetical  temperament  still  wrought  within 
me  and  wrestled  hard  with  wisdom,  and,  I  fear,  main- 
tained the  mastery.  I  found  mathematics  an  intolerable 
task  in  fine  weather.  I  would  be  prone  to  forget  my  prob- 
lems, to  watch  the  birds  hopping  about  the  windows, 
or  the  bees  humming  about  the  honeysuckles ;  and 
whenever  I  could  steal  away,  I  would  wander  about  the 
grassy  borders  of  the  Avon,  and  excuse  this  truant  pro- 
pensity to  myself  with  the  idea  that  I  was  treading 
16 


242  TALES  OF  A  TRA  TELLER. 

classic  ground,  over  which  Shakspeare  had  wandered 
"What  luxurious  idleness  have  I  indulged,  as  I  lay  under 
the  trees  and  watched  the  silver  waves  rippling  through 
the  arches  of  the  broken  bridge,  and  laving  the  rocky 
bases  of  old  Warwick  Castle;  and  how  often  have  I 
thought  of  sweet  Shakspeare,  and  in  my  boyish  enthusi- 
asm have  kissed  the  waves  which  had  washed  his  native 
village. 

My  good  preceptor  would  often  accompany  me  in  these 
desultory  rambles.  He  sought  to  get  hold  of  this 
vagrant  mood  of  mind  and  turn  it  to  some  account.  He 
endeavored  to  teach  me  to  mingle  thought  with  mere 
sensation ;  to  moralize  on  the  scenes  around ;  and  to 
make  the  beauties  of  nature  administer  to  the  under- 
standing of  the  heart.  He  endeavored  to  direct  my 
imagination  to  high  and  noble  objects,  and  to  fill  it  with 
lofty  images.  In  a  word,  he  did  all  he  could  to  make  the 
best  of  a  poetical  temperament,  and  to  counteract  the 
mischief  which  had  been  done  to  me  by  my  great  expec- 
tations. 

Had  I  been  earlier  put  under  the  care  of  the  good  pas- 
tor, or  remained  with  him  a  longer  time,  I  really  believe 
he  would  have  made  something  of  me.  He  had  already 
brought  a  great  deal  of  what  had  been  flogged  into  me 
into  tolerable  order,  and  had  weeded  out  much  of  the 
unprofitable  wisdom  which  had  sprung  up  in  my  vaga- 
bondizing. I  already  began  to  find  that  with  all  my 
genius  a  little  study  would  be  no  disadvantage  to  me; 


BUCKTHOBNE.  243 

and,  in  spite  of  my  vagrant  freaks,  I  began  to  doubt  my 
being  a  second  Shakspeare. 

Just  as  I  was  making  these  precious  discoveries,  the 
good  parson  died.  It  was  a  melancholy  day  throughout 
the  neighborhood.  He  had  his  little  flock  of  scholars, 
his  children,  as  he  used  to  call  us,  gathered  round  him  in 
his  dying  moments ;  and  he  gave  us  the  parting  advice  of 
a  father,  now  that  he  had  to  leave  us,  and  we  were  to  be 
separated  from  each  other,  and  scattered  about  in  the 
world.  He  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  talked  with  me 
earnestly  and  affectionately,  and  called  to  my  mind  my 
mother,  and  used  her  name  to  enforce  his  dying  exhorta- 
tions; for  I  rather  think  he  considered  me  the  most 
erring  and  heedless  of  his  flock.  He  held  my  hand  in 
his,  long  after  he  had  done  speaking,  and  kept  his  eye 
fixed  on  me  tenderly  and  almost  piteously :  his  lips 
moved  as  if  he  were  silently  praying  for  me  ;  and  he 
died  away,  still  holding  me  by  the  hand. 

There  was  not  a  dry  eye  in  the  church  when  the  fune- 
ral service  was  read  from  the  pulpit  from  which  he  had  so 
often  preached.  When  the  body  was  committed  to  the 
earth,  our  little  band  gathered  round  it,  and  watched  the 
coffin  as  it  was  lowered  into  the  grave.  The  parishioners 
looked  at  us  with  sympathy ;  for  we  were  mourners  not 
merely  in  dress  but  in  heart.  We  lingered  about  the  grave, 
and  clung  to  one  another  for  a  time,  weeping  and  speech- 
less, and  then  parted,  like  a  band  of  brothers  parting 
from  the  paternal  hearth,  never  to  assemble  there  again. 


244  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEn. 

How  had  the  gentle  spirit  of  that  good  man  sweetened 
our  natures,  and  linked  our  young  hearts  together  by  the 
kindest  ties !  I  have  always  had  a  throb  of  pleasure  at 
meeting  with  an  old  schoolmate,  even  though  one  of  my 
truant  associates ;  but  whenever,  in  the  course  of  my  life, 
I  have  encountered  one  of  that  little  flock  with  which  I 
was  folded  on  the  banks  of  the  Avon,  it  has  been  with  a 
gush  of  affection,  and  a  glow  of  virtue,  that  for  the  mo- 
ment have  made  me  a  better  man. 

I  was  now  sent  to  Oxford,  and  was  wonderfully  im- 
pressed on  first  entering  it  as  a  student.  Learning  here 
puts  on  all  its  majesty.  It  is  lodged  in  palaces ;  it  is 
sanctified  by  the  sacred  ceremonies  of  religion ;  it  has 
a  pomp  and  circumstance  which  powerfully  affect  the 
imagination.  Such,  at  least,  it  had  in  my  eyes,  thought- 
less as  I  was.  My  previous  studies  with  the  worthy  pas- 
tor had  prepared  me  to  regard  it  with  deference  and  awe. 
He  had  been  educated  here,  and  always  spoke  of  the 
University  with  filial  fondness  and  classic  veneration. 
"When  I  beheld  the  clustering  spires  and  pinnacles  of 
this  most  august  of  cities  rising  from  the  plain,  I  hailed 
them  in  my  enthusiasm  as  the  points  of  a  diadem,  which 
the  nation  had  placed  upon  the  brows  of  science. 

For  a  time  old  Oxford  was  full  of  enjoyment  for  me. 
There  was  a  charm  about  its  monastic  buildings;  its 
great  Gothic  quadrangles ;  its  solemn  halls,  and  shadowy 
cloisters.  I  delighted,  in  the  evenings,  to  get  in  places 
surrounded  by  the  colleges,  where  all  modern  buildings 


BUGKTHOBNK  245 

were  screened  from  the  sight;  and  to  see  the  Professors 
and  students  sweeping  along  in  the  dusk  in  their  anti- 
quated caps  and  gowns.  I  seemed  for  a  time  to  be  trans- 
ported among  the  people  and  edifices  of  the  old  times.  I 
was  a  frequent  attendant,  also,  of  the  evening  service  in 
the  New  College  Hall;  to  hear  the  fine  organ,  and  the 
choir  swelling  an  anthem  in  that  solemn  building,  where 
painting,  music,  and  architecture  are  in  such  admirable 
unison. 

A  favorite  haunt,  too,  was  the  beautiful  walk  bordered 
by  lofty  elms  along  the  river,  behind  the  gray  walls  of 
Magdalen  College,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  Addison's 
Walk,  from  being  his  favorite  resort  when  an  Oxford  stu- 
dent. I  became  also  a  lounger  in  the  Bodleian  library, 
and  a  great  dipper  into  books,  though  I  cannot  say  that  I 
studied  them ;  in  fact,  being  no  longer  under  direction  or 
control,  I  was  gradually  relapsing  into  mere  indulgence 
of  the  fancy.  Still  this  would  have  been  pleasant  and 
harmless  enough,  and  I  might  have  awakened  from  mere 
literary  dreaming  to  something  better.  The  chances 
were  in  my  favor,  for  the  riotous  times  of  the  University 
were  past.  The  days  of  hard  drinking  were  at  an  end. 
The  old  feuds  of  "Town  and  Gown,"  like  the  civil  wars 
of  the  White  and  Eed  Eose,  had  died  away ;  and  student 
and  citizen  slept  in  peace  and  whole  skins,  without  risk 
of  being  summoned  in  the  night  to  bloody  brawl.  It  had 
become  the  fashion  to  study  at  the  University,  and  the 
odds  were  always  in  favor  of  my  following  the  fashion. 


24:6  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

Unluckily,  howeyer,  I  fell  in  company  with  a  special  knot 
of  young  fellows,  of  lively  parts  and  ready  wit,  who  had 
lived  occasionally  upon  town,  and  become  initiated  into 
the  Fancy.  They  voted  study  to  be  the  toil  of  dull 
minds,  by  which  they  slowly  crept  up  the  hill,  while 
genius  arrived  at  it  at  a  bound.  I  felt  ashamed  to  play 
the  owl  among  such  gay  birds ;  so  I  threw  by  my  books, 
and  became  a  man  of  spirit. 

As  my  father  made  me  a  tolerable  allowance,  notwith- 
standing the  narrowness  of  his  income,  having  an  eye 
always  to  my  great  expectations,  I  was  enabled  to  appear 
to  advantage  among  my  companions.  I  cultivated  all 
kinds  of  sport  and  exercises.  I  was  one  of  the  most  ex- 
pert oarsmen  that  rowed  on  the  Isis.  I  boxed,  fenced, 
angled,  shot,  and  hunted,  and  my  rooms  in  college  were 
always  decorated  with  whips  of  all  kinds,  spurs,  fowling- 
pieces,  fishing-rods,  foils,  and  boxing-gloves.  A  pair  of 
leather  breeches  would  seem  to  be  throwing  one  leg  out 
of  the  half-open  drawers,  and  empty  bottles  lumbered 
the  bottom  of  every  closet. 

My  father  came  to  see  me  at  college  when  I  was  in  the 
height  of  my  career.  He  asked  me  how  I  came  on  with 
my  studies,  and  what  kind  of  hunting  there  was  in  the 
neighborhood.  He  examined  my  various  sporting  appa- 
ratus with  a  curious  eye ;  wanted  to  know  if  any  of  the 
Professors  were  fox-hunters,  and  whether  they  were  gen- 
erally good  shots,  for  he  suspected  their  studying  so 
much    must  be   hurtful  to   the  sight.     We  had  a  day's 


BTJCKTRORNE.  247 

shooting  together :  I  delighted  him  with  my  skill,  and 
astonished  him  by  my  learned  disquisitions  on  horse- 
flesh, and  on  Manton's  guns;  so,  upon  the  whole,  he 
departed  highly  satisfied  with  my  improvement  at  col- 
lege. 

I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  I  cannot  be  idle  long 
without  getting  in  love.  I  had  not  been  a  very  long 
time  a  man  of  spirit,  therefore,  before  I  became  deeply 
enamored  of  a  shopkeeper's  daughter  in  the  High-Street, 
who,  in  fact,  was  the  admiration  of  many  of  the  students. 
I  wrote  several  sonnets  in  praise  of  her,  and  spent  half  of 
my  pocket-money  at  the  shop,  in  buying  articles  which  I 
did  not  want,  that  I  might  have  an  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing to  her.  Her  father,  a  severe-looking  old  gentleman, 
with  bright  silver  buckles,  and  a  crisp-curled  wig,  kept  a 
strict  guard  on  her,  as  the  fathers  generally  do  upon 
their  daughters  in  Oxford ;  and  well  they  may.  I  tried  to 
get  into  his  good  graces,  and  to  be  sociable  with  him,  but 
all  in  vain.  I  said  several  good  things  in  his  shop,  but 
he  never  laughed :  he  had  no  relish  for  wit  and  humor. 
He  was  one  of  those  dry  old  gentlemen  who  keep  young- 
sters at  bay.  He  had  already  brought  up  two  or  three 
daughters,  and  was  experienced  in  the  ways  of  students. 
He  was  as  knowing  and  wary  as  a  gray  old  badger  that 
has  often  been  hunted.  To  see  him  on  Sunday,  so  stiff 
and  starched  in  his  demeanor,  so  precise  in  his  dress, 
with  his  daughter  under  his  arm,  was  enough  to  deter  all 
graceless  youngsters  from  approaching. 


248  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEE. 

I  managed,  however,  in  spite  of  his  vigilance,  to  have 
several  conversations  with  the  daughter,  as  I  cheapened 
articles  in  the  shop.  I  made  terrible  long  bargains,  and 
examined  the  articles  over  and  over  before  I  purchased. 
In  the  meantime,  I  would  convey  a  sonnet  or  an  acrostic 
under  cover  of  a  piece  of  cambric,  or  slipped  into  a  pair 
of  stockings ;  I  would  whisper  soft  nonsense  into  her  ear 
as  I  haggled  about  the  price ;  and  would  squeeze  her 
hand  tenderly  as  I  received  my  half-pence  of  change  in  a 
bit  of  whity-brown  paper.  Let  this  serve  as  a  hint  to 
all  haberdashers  who  have  pretty  daughters  for  shop- 
girls, and  young  students  for  customers.  I  do  not  know 
whether  my  words  and  looks  were  very  eloquent,  but  my 
poetry  was  irresistible  ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  girl  had 
some  literary  taste,  and  was  seldom  without  a  book  from 
the  circulating  library. 

By  the  divine  power  of  poetry,  therefore,  which  is  so 
potent  with  the  lovely  sex,  did  I  subdue  the  heart  of  this 
fair  little  haberdasher.  We  carried  on  a  sentimental 
correspondence  for  a  time  across  the  counter,  and  I  sup- 
plied her  with  rhyme  by  the  stocking-full.  At  length  I 
prevailed  on  her  to  grant  an  assignation.  But  how  was 
this  to  be  effected  ?  Her  father  kept  her  always  under 
his  eye  ;  she  never  walked  out  alone  ;  and  the  house  was 
locked  up  the  moment  that  the  shop  was  shut.  All  these 
difficulties  served  but  to  give  zest  to  the  adventure.  I 
proposed  that  the  assignation  should  be  in  her  own 
chamber,  into  which  I  would  climb  at  night.     The  plan 


BUCKTHORNS    AND     TH  E   SHOPKEElPERs      DAUGHTER. 


BUCKTHORNE.  249 

was  irresistible. — A  cruel  father,  a  secret  lover,  and  a 
clandestine  meeting !  Ail  the  little  girl's  studies  from 
the  circulating  library  seemed  about  to  be  realized. 

But  what  had  I  in  view  in  making  this  assignation? 
Indeed,  I  know  not.  I  had  no  evil  intentions,  nor  can  I 
say  that  I  had  any  good  ones.  I  liked  the  girl,  and 
wanted  to  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  more  of  her; 
and  the  assignation  was  made,  as  I  have  done  many 
things  else,  heedlessly  and  without  forethought.  I  asked 
myself  a  few  questions  of  the  kind,  after  all  my  arrange- 
ments were  made,  but  the  answers  were  very  unsatis- 
factory. "  Am  I  to  ruin  this  poor  thoughtless  girl  ?  "  said 
I  to  myself.  "  No ! "  was  the  prompt  and  indignant 
answer.  "  Am  I  to  run  away  with  her  ?  " — "  whither, 
and  to  what  purpose  ?  " — "  Well,  then,  am  I  to  marry 
her?" — "Poh!  a  man  of  my  expectations  marry  a  shop- 
keeper's daughter ! "  "  What  then  am  I  to  do  with 
her?"  "Hum — why — let  me  get  into  the  chamber 
first,  and  then  consider" — and  so  the  self-examination 
ended. 

Well,  sir,  "  come  what  come  might,"  I  stole  under 
cover  of  the  darkness  to  the  dwelling  of  my  dulcinea. 
All  was  quiet.  At  the  concerted  signal  her  window  was 
gently  opened.  It  was  just  above  the  projecting  bow- 
window  of  her  father's  shop,  which  assisted  me  in 
mounting.  The  house  was  low,  and  I  was  enabled  to 
scale  the  fortress  with  tolerable  ease.  I  clambered  with 
a  beating  heart ;  I  reached  the  casement ;  I  hoisted  my 


250  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

body  half  into  the  chamber ;  and  was  welcomed,  not  by 
the  embraces  of  my  expecting  fair  one,  but  by  the  grasp 
of  the  crabbed-looking  old  father  in  the  crisp-curled  wig. 
I  extricated  myself  from  his  clutches,  and  endeavored 
to  make  my  retreat ;  but  I  was  confounded  by  his  cries 
of  thieves !  and  robbers !  I  was  bothered  too  by  his 
Sunday  cane,  which  was  amazingly  busy  about  my  head 
as  I  descended,  and  against  which  my  hat  was  but  a  poor 
protection.  Never  before  had  I  an  idea  of  the  activity  of 
an  old  man's  arm,  and  the  hardness  of  the  knob  of  an 
ivory-headed  cane.  In  my  hurry  and  confusion  I  missed 
my  footing,  and  fell  sprawling  on  the  pavement.  I  was 
immediately  surrounded  by  myrmidons,  who,  I  doubt 
not,  were  on  the  watch  for  me.  Indeed,  I  was  in  no 
situation  to  escape,  for  I  had  sprained  my  ankle  in  the 
fall,  and  could  not  stand.  I  was  seized  as  a  house- 
breaker ;  and  to  exonerate  myself  of  a  greater  crime,  I 
had  to  accuse  myself  of  a  less.  I  made  known  who  I 
was,  and  why  I  came  there.  Alas !  the  varlets  knew  it 
already,  and  were  only  amusing  themselves  at  my  ex- 
pense. My  perfidious  Muse  had  been  playing  me  one  of 
her  slippery  tricks.  The  old  curmudgeon  of  a  father  had 
found  my  sonnets  and  acrostics  hid  away  in  holes  and 
corners  of  his  shop ;  he  had  no  taste  for  poetry  like  his 
daughter,  and  had  instituted  a  rigorous  though  silent 
observation.  He  had  moused  upon  our  letters,  detected 
our  plans,  and  prepared  everything  for  my  reception. 
Thus  was  I  ever  doomed  to  be  led  into  scrapes  by  the 


BUCKTHORNK  251 

Muse.     Let  no  man  henceforth  carry  on  a  secret  amour 
in  poetry ! 

The  old  man's  ire  was  in  some  measure  appeased  by 
the  pommelling  of  my  head  and  the  anguish  of  my 
sprain  ;  so  he  did  not  put  me  to  death  on  the  spot.  He 
was  even  humane  enough  to  furnish  a  shutter,  on  which 
I  was  carried  back  to  college  like  a  wounded  warrior. 
The  porter  was  roused  to  admit  me.  The  college  gate 
was  thrown  open  for  my  entry.  The  affair  was  blazed 
about  the  next  morning,  and  became  the  joke  of  the  col- 
lege from  the  buttery  to  the  hall. 

I  had  leisure  to  repent  during  several  weeks'  confine- 
ment by  my  sprain,  which  I  passed  in  translating  Boe- 
thius's  "  Consolations  of  Philosophy."  I  received  a  most 
tender  and  ill-spelled  letter  from  my  mistress,  who  had 
been  sent  to  a  relation  in  Coventry.  She  protested  her 
innocence  of  my  misfortune,  and  vowed  to  be  true  to  me 
"till  deth."  I  took  no  notice  of  the  letter,  for  I  was 
cured  for  the  present,  both  of  love  and  poetry.  Women, 
however,  are  more  constant  in  their  attachments  than 
men,  whatever  philosophers  may  say  to  the  contrary.  I 
am  assured  that  she  actually  remained  faithful  to  her 
vow  for  several  months ;  but  she  had  to  deal  with  a  cruel 
father,  whose  heart  was  as  hard  as  the  knob  of  his  cane. 
He  was  not  to  be  touched  by  tears  nor  poetry,  but  abso- 
lutely compelled  her  to  marry  a  reputable  young  trades- 
man, who  made  her  a  happy  woman  in  spite  of  herself 
and  of  all  the  rules  of  romance,  and,  what  is  more,  the 


252  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLEB. 

mother  of  several  children.  They  are  at  this  very  day 
a  thriving  couple,  and  keep  a  snug  corner-shop  just 
opposite  the  figure  of  Peeping  Tom,  at  Coventry. 

I  will  not  fatigue  you  by  a,ny  more  details  of  my 
studies  at  Oxford;  though  they  were  not  always  as 
severe  as  these,  nor  did  I  always  pay  as  dear  for  my 
lessons.  To  be  brief,  then,  I  lived  on  in  my  usual  mis- 
cellaneous manner,  gradually  getting  knowledge  of  good 
and  evil,  until  I  had  attained  my  twenty-first  year.  I 
had  scarcely  come  of  age  when  I  heard  of  the  sudden 
death  of  my  father.  The  shock  was  severe,  for  though 
he  had  never  treated  me  with  much  kindness,  still  he 
was  my  father,  and  at  his  death  I  felt  alone  in  the 
world. 

I  returned  home,  and  found  myself  the  solitary  master 
of  the  paternal  mansion.  A  crowd  of  gloomy  feelings 
came  thronging  upon  me.  It  was  a  place  that  always  so- 
bered me,  and  brought  me  to  reflection  ;  now  especially ; 
it  looked  so  deserted  and  melancholy.  I  entered  the 
little  breakfasting-room.  There  were  my  father's  whip 
and  spurs,  hanging  by  the  fireplace  ;  the  "  Stud-Book," 
"Sporting  Magazine,"  and  "Eacing  Calendar,"  his  only 
reading.  His  favorite  spaniel  lay  on  the  hearth-rug. 
The  poor  animal,  who  had  never  before  noticed  me,  now 
came  fondling  about  me,  licked  my  hand,  then  looked 
round  the  room,  whined,  wagged  his  tail  slightly,  and 
gazed  wistfully  in  my  face.  I  felt  the  full  force  of  the 
appeal.     **  Poor  Dash,"  said  I,  "  we  are  both  alone  in  the 


BUCKTHOBNE  253 

world,  with  nobody  to  care  for  us,  and  will  take  care  of 
one  another." — The  dog  never  quitted  me  afterwards. 

I  could  not  go  into  my  mother's  room — my  heart 
swelled  when  I  passed  within  sight  of  the  door.  Her 
portrait  hung  in  the  parlor,  just  over  the  place  where  she 
used  to  sit.  As  I  cast  my  eyes  on  it,  I  thought  that  it 
looked  at  me  with  tenderness,  and  I  burst  into  tears.  I 
was  a  careless  dog,  it  is  true,  hardened  a  little,  perhaps, 
by  living  in  public  schools,  and  buffeting  about  among 
strangers,  who  cared  nothing  for  me  ;  but  the  recollection 
of  a  mother's  tenderness  was  overcoming. 

I  was  not  of  an  age  or  a  temperament  to  be  long  de- 
pressed. There  was  a  reaction  in  my  system,  that  always 
brought  me  up  again  after  every  pressure  ;  and,  indeed, 
my  spirits  were  always  most  buoyant  after  a  temporary 
prostration.  I  settled  the  concerns  of  the  estate  as  soon 
as  possible ;  realized  my  property,  which  was  not  very 
considerable,  but  which  appeared  a  vast  deal  to  me,  hav- 
ing a  poetical  eye  that  magnified  everything ;  and  finding 
myself,  at  the  end  of  a  few  months,  free  of  all  further 
business  or  restraint,  I  determined  to  go  to  London  and 
enjoy  myself.  Why  should  I  not  ? — ^I  was  young,  ani- 
mated, joyous  ;  had  plenty  of  funds  for  present  pleasures, 
and  my  uncle's  estate  in  the  perspective.  Let  those  mope 
at  college,  and  pore  over  books,  thought  I,  who  have  their 
way  to  make  in  the  world ;  it  would  be  ridiculous  drudg- 
ery in  a  youth  of  my  expectations.  Away  to  London, 
therefore,  I  rattled  in  a  tandem,  determined  to  take  the 


254  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

town  gayly.  I  passed  through  several  of  the  villages 
where  I  had  played  the  Jack  Pudding  a  few  years  before ; 
and  I  visited  the  scenes  of  many  of  my  adventures  and 
follies  merely  from  that  feeling  of  melancholy  pleasure 
which  we  have  in  stepping  again  the  footprints  of  fore- 
gone existence,  even  when  they  have  passed  among  weeds 
and  briers.  I  made  a  circuit  in  the  latter  part  of  my 
journey,  so  as  to  take  in  West  End  and  Hampstead,  the 
scenes  of  my  last  dramatic  exploit,  and  of  the  battle  royal 
of  the  booth.  As  I  drove  along  the  ridge  of  Hampstead 
Hill,  by  Jack  Straw's  Castle,  I  paused  at  the  spot  where 
Columbine  and  I  had  sat  down  so  disconsolately  in  our 
ragged  finery,  and  had  looked  dubiously  on  London.  I 
almost  expected  to  see  her  again,  standing  on  the  hill's 
brink,  "like  Niobe,  all  tears ; " — mournful  as  Babylon  in 
ruins ! 

"  Poor  Columbine  ! "  said  I,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "  thou 
wert  a  gallant,  generous  girl — a  true  woman ; — faithful  to 
the  distressed,  and  ready  to  sacrifice  thyself  in  the  cause 
of  worthless  man! " 

I  tried  to  whistle  off  the  recollection  of  her,  for  there 
was  always  something  of  self-reproach  with  it.  I  drove 
gayly  along  the  road,  enjoying  the  stare  of  hostlers  and 
stable-boys,  as  I  managed  my  horses  knowingly  down 
the  steep  street  of  Hampstead ;  when,  just  at  the  skirts 
of  the  village,  one  of  the  traces  of  my  leader  came  loose. 
I  pulled  up,  and  as  the  animal  was  restive,  and  my  ser- 
vant a  bungler,  I  called  for  assistance  to  the  robustious 


BUCKTHORNE.  255 

master  of  a  snug  ale-house,  who  stood  at  his  door  with  a 
tankard  in  his  hand.  He  came  readily  to  assist  me,  fol- 
lowed by  his  wife,  with  her  bosom  half  open,-  a  child  in 
her  arms,  and  two  more  at  her  heels.  I  stared  for  a 
moment,  as  if  doubting  my  eyes.  I  could  not  be  mis- 
taken :  in  the  fat,  beer-blown  landlord  of  the  ale-house  I 
recollected  my  old  rival  Harlequin,  and  in  his  slattern 
spouse  the  once  trim  and  dimpling  Columbine. 

The  change  of  my  looks  from  youth  to  manhood,  and 
the  change  in  my  circumstances,  prevented  them  from 
recognizing  me.  They  could  not  suspect  in  the  dashing 
young  buck,  fashionably  dressed  and  driving  his  own 
equipage,  the  painted  beau,  with  old  peaked  hat,  and 
long,  flimsy,  sky-blue  coat.  My  heart  yearned  with 
kindness  towards  Columbine,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  her 
establishment  a  thriving  one.  As  soon  as  the  harness 
was  adjusted,  I  tossed  a  small  purse  of  gold  into  her 
ample  bosom ;  and  then,  pretending  to  give  my  horses  a 
hearty  cut  of  the  whip,  I  made  the  lash  curl  with  a 
whistling  about  the  sleek  sides  of  ancient  Harlequin. 
The  horses  dashed  off  like  lightning,  and  I  was  whirled 
out  of  sight  before  either  of  the  parties  could  get  over 
their  surprise  at  my  liberal  donations.  I  have  always 
considered  this  as  one  of  the  greatest  proofs  of  my 
poetical  genius;  it  was  distributing  poetical  justice  in 
perfection. 

I  now  entered  London  en  cavalier,  and  became  a  blood 
upon  town.     I  took  fashionable   lodgings,  in  the  "West 


256  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

End ;  employed  the  first  tailor ;  frequented  the  regular 
lounges ;  gambled  a  little ;  lost  my  money  good-humor- 
edly ;  and  gained  a  number  of  fashionable,  good-for-noth- 
ing acquaintances.  I  gained  some  reputation  also  for  a 
man  of  science,  having  become  an  expert  boxer  in  the 
course  of  my  studies  at  Oxford.  I  was  distinguished, 
therefore,  among  the  gentlemen  of  the  Fancy ;  became 
hand  and  glove  with  certain  boxing  noblemen,  and  was 
the  admiration  of  the  Fives  Court.  A  gentleman's  sci- 
ence, however,  is  apt  to  get  him  into  bad  scrapes ;  he 
is  too  prone  to  play  the  knight-errant,  and  to  pick  up 
quarrels  which  less  scientifical  gentlemen  would  quietly 
avoid.  I  undertook  one  day  to  punish  the  insolence  of  a 
porter.  He  was  a  Hercules  of  a  fellow,  but  then  I  was  so 
secure  in  my  science  !  I  gained  the  victory  of  course. 
The  porter  pocketed  his  humiliation,  bound  up  his 
broken  head,  and  went  about  his  business  as  unconcern- 
edly as  though  nothing  had  happened ;  while  I  went  to 
bed  with  my  victory,  and  did  not  dare  to  show  my  bat- 
tered face  for  a  fortnight :  by  which  I  discovered  that  a 
gentleman  may  have  the  worst  of  the  battle  even  when 
victorious. 

I  am  naturally  a  philosopher,  and  no  one  can  moralize 
better  after  a  misfortune  has  taken  place  ;  so  I  lay  on  my 
bed  and  moralized  on  this  sorry  ambition,  which  levels 
the  gentleman  with  the  clown.  I  know  it  is  the  opinion 
of  many  sages,  who  have  thought  deeply  on  these  mat- 
ters, that  the  noble  science  of  boxing  keeps  up  the  bull- 


BUCKTHORNK  257 

dog  courage  of  the  nation ;  and  far  be  it  from  me  to  decry 
the  advantage  of  becoming  a  nation  of  bull-dogs ;  but  I 
now  saw  clearly  that  it  was  calculated  to  keep  up  the 
breed  of  English  ruffians.  "  What  is  the  Fives  Court," 
said  I  to  myself,  as  I  turned  uncomfortably  in  bed,  "  but 
a  college  of  scoundrelism,  where  every  bully-ruffian  in 
the  land  may  gain  a  fellowship  ?  What  is  the  slang  lan- 
guage of  the  Fancy  but  a  jargon  by  which  fools  and 
knaves  commune  and  understand  each  other,  and  enjoy 
a  kind  of  superiority  over  the  uninitiated?  What  is  a 
boxing-match  but  an  arena,  where  the  noble  and  the 
illustrious  are  jostled  into  familiarity  with  the  infamous 
and  the  vulgar  ?  What,  in  fact,  is  the  Fancy  itself,  but 
a  chain  of  easy  communication,  extending  from  the  peer 
down  to  the  pickpocket,  through  the  medium  of  which  a 
man  of  rank  may  find  he  has  shaken  hands,  at  three 
removes,  with  the  murderer  on  the  gibbet? — 

"Enough!"  ejaculated  I,  thoroughly  convinced  through 
the  force  of  my  philosophy,  and  the  pain  of  my  bruises, — 
"  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  Fancy."  So  when 
I  had  recovered  from  my  victory,  I  turned  my  attention 
to  softer  themes,  and  became  a  devoted  admirer  of  the 
ladies.  Had  I  had  more  industry  and  ambition  in  my 
nature,  I  might  have  worked  my  way  to  the  very  height 
of  fashion,  as  I  saw  many  laborious  gentlemen  doing 
around  me.  But  it  is  a  toilsome,  an  anxious,  and  an 
unhappy  life  ;  there  are  few  things  so  sleepless  and  mis- 
erable as  your  cultivators  of  fashionable  smiles.  I  was 
17 


258  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VBLLER. 

quite  content  with  that  kind  of  society  which  forms  the 
frontiers  of  fashion,  and  may  be  easily  taken  possession 
of.  I  found  it  a  light,  easy,  productive  soil.  I  had  but 
to  go  about  and  sow  visiting-cards,  and  I  reaped  a  whole 
harvest  of  invitations.  Indeed,  my  figure  and  address 
were  by  no  means  against  me.  It  was  whispered,  too, 
among  the  young  ladies,  that  I  was  prodigiously  clever, 
and  wrote  poetry;  and  the  old  ladies  had  ascertained 
that  I  was  a  young  gentleman  of  good  family,  handsome 
fortune,  and  "  great  expectations." 

I  now  was  carried  away  by  the  hurry  of  gay  life,  so 
intoxicating  to  a  young  man,  and  which  a  man  of  poetical 
temperament  enjoys  so  highly  on  his  first  tasting  of  it ; 
that  rapid  variety  of  sensations ;  that  whirl  of  brilliant 
objects;  that  succession  of  pungent  pleasures!  I  had 
no  time  for  thought.  I  only  felt.  I  never  attempted  to 
write  poetry ;  my  poetry  seemed  all  to  go  off  by  trans- 
piration. I  lived  poetry ;  it  was  all  a  poetical  dream  to 
me.  A  mere  sensualist  knows  nothing  of  the  delights  of 
a  splendid  metropolis.  He  lives  in  a  round  of  animal 
gratifications  and  heartless  habits.  But  to  a  young  man 
of  poetical  feelings,  it  is  an  ideal  world,  a  scene  of  en- 
chantment and  delusion ;  his  imagination  is  in  perpetual 
excitement,  and  gives  a  spiritual  zest  to  every  pleasure. 

A  season  of  town  life,  however,  somewhat  sobered 
me  of  my  intoxication ;  or  rather  I  was  rendered  more 
serious  by  one  of  my  old  complaints — I  fell  in  love.  It 
was  with  a  very  pretty,  though  a  very  haughty  fair  one, 


BUCKTHORNE,  259 

who  had  come  to  London  under  the  care  of  an  old 
maiden  aunt  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  a  winter  in  town, 
and  to  get  married.  There  was  not  a  doubt  of  her  com- 
manding a  choice  of  lovers  ;  for  she  had  long  been  the 
belle  of  a  little  cathedral  city,  and  one  of  the  poets  of 
the  place  had  absolutely  celebrated  her  beauty  in  a  copy 
of  Latin  verses.  The  most  extravagant  anticipations 
were  formed  by  her  friends  of  the  sensation  she  would 
produce.  It  was  feared  by  some  that  she  might  be  pre- 
cipitate in  her  choice,  and  take  up  with  some  inferior 
title.  The  aunt  was  determined  nothing  should  gain  her 
under  a  lord. 

Alas  !  with  all  her  charms,  the  young  lady  lacked  the 
one  thing  needful — she  had  no  money.  So  she  waited  in 
vain  for  duke,  marquis,  or  earl,  to  throw  himself  at  her 
feet.  As  the  season  waned,  so  did  the  lady's  expecta- 
tions ;  when,  just  towards  the  close,  I  made  my  advances. 

I  was  most  favorably  received  by  both  the  young  lady 
and  her  aunt.  It  is  true,  I  had  no  title  ;  but  then  such 
great  expectations.  A  marked  preference  was  immedi- 
ately shown  me  over  two  rivals,  the  younger  son  of  a 
needy  baronet,  and  a  captain  of  dragoons  on  half-pay. 
I  did  not  absolutely  take  the  field  in  form,  for  I  was  de- 
termined not  to  be  precipitate  ;  but  I  drove  my  equipage 
frequently  through  the  street  in  which  she  lived,  and  was 
always  sure  to  see  her  at  the  window,  generally  with  a 
book  in  her  hand.  I  resumed  my  knack  at  rhyming,  and 
sent  her  a  long  copy  of  verses  ;  anonymously,  to  be  sure. 


260  TALES  OP  A  TRA  VELLEB. 

but  she  knew  mj  handwriting.  Both  aunt  and  niece, 
however,  displayed  the  most  delightful  ignorance  on  the 
subject.  The  young  lady  showed  them  to  me ;  wondered 
who  they  could  be  written  by ;  and  declared  there  was 
nothing  in  this  world  she  loved  so  much  as  poetry  ; 
while  the  maiden  aunt  would  put  her  pinching  spectacles 
on  her  nose,  and  read  them,  with  blunders  in  sense  and 
sound,  excruciating  to  an  author's  ears ;  protesting  there 
was  nothing  equal  to  them  in  the  whole  Elegant  Ex- 
tracts. 

The  fashionable  season  closed  without  my  adventuring 
to  make  a  declaration,  though  I  certainly  had  encourage- 
ment. I  was  not  perfectly  sure  that  I  had  effected  a 
lodgment  in  the  young  lady's  heart;  and,  to  tell  the 
truth,  the  aunt  overdid  her  part,  and  was  a  little  too  ex- 
travagant in  her  liking  of  me.  I  knew  that  maiden  aunts 
were  not  to  be  captivated  by  the  mere  personal  merits  of 
their  nieces'  admirers  ;  and  I  wanted  to  ascertain  how 
much  of  all  this  favor  I  owed  to  driving  an  equipage,  and 
having  great  expectations. 

I  had  received  many  hints  how  charming  their  native 
place  was  during  the  summer  months ;  what  pleasant 
society  they  had ;  and  what  beautiful  drives  about  the 
neighborhood.  They  had  not,  therefore,  returned  home 
long,  before  I  made  my  appearance  in  dashing  style, 
driving  down  the  principal  street.  The  very  next  morn- 
ing I  was  seen  at  prayers,  seated  in  the  same  pew  with 
the  reigning  belle.     Questions  were  whispered  about  the 


BUGKTHORNE.  261 

aisles,  after  service,  "Who  is  he?"  and  "What  is  he?" 
And  the  replies  were  as  usual,  "  A  young  gentleman  of 
good  family  and  fortune,  and  great  expectations." 

I  was  much  struck  with  the  peculiarities  of  this  rev- 
erend little  place.  A  cathedral,  with  its  dependencies 
and  regulations,  presents  a  picture  of  other  times,  and  of 
a  different  order  of  things.  It  is  a  rich  relic  of  a  more 
poetical  age.  There  still  linger  about  it  the  silence  and 
solemnity  of  the  cloister.  In  the  present  instance  espe- 
cially, where  the  cathedral  was  large,  and  the  town 
small,  its  influence  was  the  more  apparent.  The  solemn 
pomp  of  the  service,  performed  twice  a  day,  with  the 
grand  intonations  of  the  organ,  and  the  voices  of  the 
choir  swelling  through  the  magnificent  pile,  diffused,  as 
it  were,  a  perpetual  Sabbath  over  the  place.  This  rou- 
tine of  solemn  ceremony  continually  going  on,  indepen- 
dent, as  it  were,  of  the  world ;  this  daily  offering  of  melody 
and  praise,  ascending  like  incense  from  the  altar,  had  a 
powerful  effect  upon  my  imagination. 

The  aunt  introduced  me  to  her  coterie,  formed  of 
families  connected  with  the  cathedral,  and  others  of  mod- 
erate fortune,  but  high  respectability,  who  had  nestled 
themselves  under  the  wings  of  the  cathedral  to  enjoy 
good  society  at  moderate  expense.  It  was  a  highly  aris- 
tocratical  little  circle ;  scrupulous  in  its  intercourse  with 
others,  and  jealously  cautious  about  admitting  anything 
common  or  unclean. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  courtesies  of  the  old  school  had 


262  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

taken  refuge  here.  There  were  continual  interchanges  of 
civilities,  and  of  small  presents  of  fruits  and  delicacies, 
and  of  complimentary  crow-quill  billets;  for  in  a  quiet, 
well-bred  community  like  this,  living  entirely  at  ease, 
little  duties,  and  little  amusements,  and  little  civilities, 
filled  up  the  day.  I  have  seen,  in  the  midst  of  a  warm 
day,  a  corpulent,  powdered  footman,  issuing  from  the 
iron  gateway  of  a  stately  mansion,  and  traversing  the 
little  place  with  an  air  of  mighty  import,  bearing  a  small 
tart  on  a  large  silver  salver. 

Their  evening  amusements  were  sober  and  primitive. 
They  assembled  at  a  moderate  hour;  the  young  ladies 
played  music,  and  the  old  ladies,  whist ;  and  at  an  early 
hour  they  dispersed.  There  was  no  parade  on  these 
social  occasions.  Two  or  three  old  sedan  chairs  were  in 
constant  activity,  though  the  greater  part  made  their  exit 
in  clogs  and  pattens,  with  a  footman  or  waiting-maid 
carrying  a  lantern  in  advance ;  and  long  before  midnight 
the  clank  of  pattens  and  gleam  of  lanterns  about  the  quiet 
little  place  told  that  the  evening  party  had  dissolved. 

Still  I  did  not  feel  myself  altogether  so  much  at  my 
ease  as  I  had  anticipated  considering  the  smallness  of 
the  place.  I  found  it  very  different  from  other  country 
places,  and  that  it  was  not  so  easy  to  make  a  dash  there. 
Sinner  that  I  was !  the  very  dignity  and  decorum  of  the 
little  community  was  rebuking  to  me.  I  feared  my  past 
idleness  and  folly  would  rise  in  judgment  against  me.  I 
stood  in  awe  of  the  dignitaries  of  the  cathedral,  whom  I 


BUGETHORNE.  263 

saw  mingling  familiarly  in  society.  I  became  nervous  on 
this  point.  The  creak  of  a  prebendary's  shoes,  sounding 
from  one  end  of  a  quiet  street  to  another,  was  appalling 
to  me ;  and  the  sight  of  a  shovel  hat  was  sufficient  at  any 
time  to  check  me  in  the  midst  of  my  boldest  poetical 
soarings. 

And  then  the  good  aunt  could  not  be  quiet,  but  would 
cry  me  up  for  a  genius,  and  extol  my  poetry  to  every 
one.  So  long  as  she  confined  this  to  the  ladies  it  did 
well  enough,  because  they  were  able  to  feel  and  appreci- 
ate poetry  of  the  new  romantic  school.  Nothing  would 
content  the  good  lady,  however,  but  she  must  read  my 
verses  to  a  prebendary,  who  had  long  been  the  un- 
doubted critic  of  the  place.  He  was  a  thin,  delicate  old 
gentleman,  of  mild,  polished  manners,  steeped  to  the  lips 
in  classic  lore,  and  not  easily  put  in  a  heat  by  any  hot- 
blooded  poetry  of  the  day.  He  listened  to  my  most 
fervid  thoughts  and  fervid  words  without  a  glow ;  shook 
his  head  with  a  smile,  and  condemned  them  as  not  being 
according  to  Horace,  as  not  being  legitimate  poetry. 

Several  old  ladies,  who  had  heretofore  been  my  ad- 
mirers, shook  their  heads  at  hearing  this  :  they  could 
not  think  of  praising  any  poetry  that  was  not  according 
to  Horace  ;  and  as  to  anything  illegitimate,  it  was  not  to 
be  countenanced  in  good  society.  Thanks  to  my  stars, 
however,  I  had  youth  and  novelty  on  my  side :  so  the 
young  ladies  persisted  in  admiring  my  poetry  in  despite 
of  Horace  and  illegitimacy. 


264  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

I  consoled  myself  with  the  good  opinion  of  the  young 
ladies,  whom  I  had  always  found  to  be  the  best  judges  of 
poetry.  As  to  these  old  scholars,  said  I,  they  are  apt  to 
be  chilled  by  being  steeped  in  the  cold  fountains  of  the 
classics.  Still  I  felt  that  I  was  losing  ground,  and  that 
it  was  necessary  to  bring  matters  to  a  point.  Just  at 
this  time  there  was  a  public  ball,  attended  by  the  best 
society  of  the  place,  and  by  the  gentry  of  the  neighbor- 
hood :  I  took  great  pains  with  my  toilet  on  the  occasion, 
and  I  had  never  looked  better.  I  had  determined  that 
night  to  make  my  grand  assault  on  the  heart  of  the 
young  lady,  to  battle  it  with  all  my  forces,  and  the  next 
morning  to  demand  a  surrender  in  due  form. 

I  entered  the  ball-room  amidst  a  buzz  and  flutter, 
which  generally  took  place  among  the  young  ladies  on 
my  appearance.  I  was  in  fine  spirits ;  for,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  had  exhilarated  myself  by  a  cheerful  glass  of 
wine  on  the  occasion.  I  talked,  and  rattled,  and  said  a 
thousand  silly  things,  slap-dash,  with  all  the  confidence  of 
a  man  sure  of  his  auditors, — and  everything  had  its  effect. 

In  the  midst  of  my  triumph  I  observed  a  little  knot 
gathering  together  in  the  upper  part  of  the  room.  By 
degrees  it  increased.  A  tittering  broke  out  here  and 
there,  and  glances  were  cast  round  at  me,  and  then  there 
would  be  fresh  tittering.  Some  of  the  youjig  ladies 
would  hurry  away  to  distant  parts  of  the  room,  and 
whisper  to  their  friends.  Wherever  they  went,  there 
was  still  this  tittering  and  glancing  at  me.     I  did  not 


BUCKTHORNE.  265 

know  what  to  make  of  all  this.  I  looked  at  myself  from 
head  to  foot,  and  peeped  at  my  back  in  a  glass,  to  see  if 
anything  was  odd  about  my  person  ;  any  awkward  expo- 
sure, any  whimsical  tag  hanging  out; — no — everything 
was  right — I  was  a  perfect  picture.  I  determined  that  it 
must  be  some  choice  saying  of  mine  that  was  bandied 
about  in  this  knot  of  merry  beauties,  and  I  determined 
to  enjoy  one  of  my  good  things  in  the  rebound.  I 
stepped  gently,  therefore,  up  the  room,  smiling  at  everj 
one  as  I  passed,  who,  I  must  say,  all  smiled  and  tittered 
in  return.  I  approached  the  group,  smirking  and  perk- 
ing my  chin,  like  a  man  who  is  full  of  pleasant  feeling, 
and  sure  of  being  well  received.  The  cluster  of  little 
belles  opened  as  I  advanced. 

Heavens  and  earth !  whom  should  I  perceive  in  the 
midst  of  them  but  my  early  and  tormenting  flame,  the 
everlasting  Sacharissa  !  She  was  grown,  it  is  true,  into 
the  full  beauty  of  womanhood ;  but  showed,  by  the  pro- 
voking merriment  of  her  countenance,  that  she  perfectly 
recollected  me,  and  the  ridiculous  flagellations  of  which 
she  had  twice  been  the  cause. 

I  saw  at  once  the  exterminating  cloud  of  ridicule  burst- 
ing over  me.  My  crest  fell.  The  flame  of  love  went  sud- 
denly out,  or  was  extinguished  by  overwhelming  shame. 
How  I  got  down  the  room  I  know  not ;  I  fancied  every 
one  tittering  at  me.  Just  as  I  reached  the  door,  I  caught 
a  glance  of  my  mistress  and  her  aunt  listening  to  the 
whispers  of  Sacharissa,  the  old  lady  raising  her  hands 


266  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

and  eyes,  and  the  face  of  the  young  one  lighted  up,  as  I 
imagined,  with  scorn  ineffable.  I  paused  to  see  no  more, 
but  made  two  steps  from  the  top  of  the  stairs  to  the  bot- 
tom. The  next  morning,  before  sunrise,  I  beat  a  retreat, 
and  did  not  feel  the  blushes  cool  from  my  tingling  cheeks, 
until  I  had  lost  sight  of  the  old  towers  of  the  cathedral. 

I  now  returned  to  town  thoughtful  and  crestfallen. 
My  money  was  nearly  spent,  for  I  had  lived  freely  and 
without  calculation.  The  dream  of  love  was  over,  and 
the  reign  of  pleasure  at  an  end.  I  determined  to  retrench 
while  I  had  yet  a  trifle  left ;  so  selling  my  equipage  and 
horses  for  half  their  value,  I  quietly  put  the  money  in  my 
pocket,  and  turned  pedestrian.  I  had  not  a  doubt  that, 
with  my  great  expectations,  I  could  at  any  time  raise 
funds,  either  on  usury  or  by  borrowing  ;  but  I  was  prin- 
cipled against  both,  and  resolved  by  strict  economy  to 
make  my  slender  purse  hold  out  until  my  uncle  should 
give  up  the  ghost,  or  rather  the  estate.  I  stayed  at  home 
therefore  and  read,  and  would  have  written,  but  I  had 
already  suffered  too  much  from  my  poetical  productions, 
which  had  generally  involved  me  in  some  ridiculous 
scrape.  I  gradually  acquired  a  rusty  look,  and  had  a 
straitened  money-borrowing  air,  upon  which  the  world 
began  to  shy  me.  I  have  never  felt  disposed  to  quarrel 
with  the  world  for  its  conduct ;  it  has  always  used  me 
well.  "When  I  have  been  flush  and  gay,  and  disposed  for 
society,  it  has  caressed  me ;  and  when  I  have  been 
pinched  and  reduced,  and  wished  to  be  alone,  why,  it  has 


BTJCKTHOBNE.  267 

left  me  alone  ;  and  wliat  more  could  a  man  desire  ?  Take 
my  word  for  it,  this  world  is  a  more  obliging  world  than 
people  generally  represent  it. 

Well,  sir,  in  the  midst  of  my  retrenchment,  my  retire- 
ment, and  my  studiousness,  I  received  news  that  my  uncle 
was  dangerously  ill.  I  hastened  on  the  wings  of  an  heir's 
affections  to  receive  his  dying  breath  and  his  last  testa- 
ment. I  found  him  attended  by  his  faithful  valet,  old 
Iron  John ;  by  the  woman  who  occasionally  worked  about 
the  house,  and  by  the  foxy-headed  boy,  young  Orson, 
whom  I  had  occasionally  hunted  about  the  park.  Iron 
John  gasped  a  kind  of  asthmatical  salutation  as  I  entered 
the  room,  and  received  me  with  something  almost  like  a 
smile  of  welcome.  The  woman  sat  blubbering  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed;  and  the  foxy-headed  Orson,  who  had  now 
grown  up  to  be  a  lubberly  lout,  stood  gazing  in  stupid 
vacancy  at  a  distance. 

My  uncle  lay  stretched  upon  his  back.  The  chamber 
was  without  fire,  or  any  of  the  comforts  of  a  sick-room. 
The  cobwebs  flaunted  from  the  ceiling.  The  tester  was 
covered  with  dust,  and  the  curtains  were  tattered.  From 
underneath  the  bed  peeped  out  one  end  of  his  strong  box. 
Against  the  wainscot  were  suspended  rusty  blunder- 
busses, horse-pistols,  and  a  cut-and-thrust  sword,  with 
which  he  had  fortified  his  room  to  defend  his  life  and 
treasure.  He  had  employed  no  physician  during  his  ill- 
ness ;  and  from  the  scanty  relics  lying  on  the  table,  seemed 
almost  to  have  denied  himself  the  assistance  of  a  cook. 


268  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

When  I  entered  the  room,  he  was  lying  motionless ;  his 
eyes  fixed  and  his  mouth  open  :  at  the  first  look  I  thought 
him  a  corpse.  The  noise  of  my  entrance  made  him  turn 
his  head.  At  the  sight  of  me  a  ghastly  smile  came  over 
his  face,  and  his  glazing  eye  gleamed  with  satisfaction. 
It  was  the  only  smile  he  had  ever  given  me,  and  it  went 
to  my  heart.  "  Poor  old  man !  "  thought  I,  "  why  should 
you  force  me  to  leave  you  thus  desolate,  when  I  see  that 
my  presence  has  the  power  to  cheer  you  ?  " 

"Nephew,"  said  he,  after  several  efforts,  and  in  a  low 
gasping  voice, — "  I  am  glad  you  are  come.  I  shall  now 
die  with  satisfaction.  Look,"  said  he,  raising  his  with- 
ered hand,  and  pointing, — "  look  in  that  box  on  the  table : 
you  will  find  that  I  have  not  forgotten  you." 

I  pressed  his  hand  to  my  heart,  and  the  tears  stood  in 
my  eyes.  I  sat  down  by  his  bedside,  and  watched  him, 
but  he  never  spoke  again.  My  presence,  however,  gave 
him  evident  satisfaction ;  for  every  now  and  then,  as  he 
looked  to  me,  a  vague  smile  would  come  over  his  visage, 
and  he  would  feebly  point  to  the  sealed  box  on  the  table. 
As  the  day  wore  away,  his  life  appeared  to  wear  away 
with  it.  Towards  sunset  his  head  sank  on  the  bed,  and 
lay  motionless,  his  eyes  grew  glazed,  his  mouth  remained 
open,  and  thus  he  gradually  died. 

I  could  not  but  feel  shocked  at  this  absolute  extinction 
of  my  kindred.  I  dropped  a  tear  of  real  sorrow  over  this 
strange  old  man,  who  had  thus  reserved  the  smile  of 
kindness  to  his  death-bed, — like  an  evening  sun  after  a 


BTTCETHOBNE.  269 

gloomy  day,  just  sliining  out  to  set  in  darkness.  Leav- 
ing tlie  corpse  in  charge  of  the  domestics,  I  retired  for 
the  night. 

It  was  a  rough  night.  The  winds  seemed  as  if  singing 
my  uncle's  requiem  about  the  mansion,  and  the  blood- 
hounds howled  without,  as  if  they  knew  of  the  death  of 
their  old  master.  Iron  John  almost  grudged  me  the  tal- 
low candle  to  burn  in  my  apartment,  and  light  up  its 
dreariness,  so  accustomed  had  he  been  to  starveling 
economy.  I  could  not  sleep.  The  recollection  of  my 
uncle's  dying-scene,  and  the  dreary  sounds  about  the 
house,  affected  my  mind.  These,  however,  were  suc- 
ceeded by  plans  for  the  future,  and  I  lay  awake  the 
greater  part  of  the  night,  indulging  the  poetical  anticipa- 
tion how  soon  I  should  make  these  old  walls  ring  with 
cheerful  life,  and  restore  the  hospitality  of  my  mother's 
ancestors. 

My  uncle's  funeral  was  decent,  but  private.  I  knew 
that  nobody  respected  his  memory,  and  I  was  determined 
none  should  be  summoned  to  sneer  over  his  funeral,  and 
make  merry  at  his  grave.  He  was  buried  in  the  church 
of  the  neighboring  village,  though  it  was  not  the  bury- 
ing-place  of  his  race ;  but  he  had  expressly  enjoined  that 
he  should  not  be  buried  with  his  family ;  he  had  quar- 
relled with  most  of  them  when  living,  and  he  carried  his 
resentments  even  into  the  grave. 

I  defrayed  the  expenses  of  his  funeral  out  of  my  own 
purse,  that  I  might  have  done  with  the  undertakers  at 


270  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLEB, 

once,  and  clear  tlie  ill-omened  birds  from  the  premises. 
I  invited  the  parson  of  the  parish,  and  the  lawyer  from 
the  village,  to  attend  at  the  house  the  next  morning,  and 
hear  the  reading  of  the  will.  I  treated  them  to  an  excel- 
lent breakfast,  a  profusion  that  had  not  been  seen  at  the 
house  for  many  a  year.  As  soon  as  the  breakfast  things 
were  removed,  I  summoned  Iron  John,  the  woman,  and 
the  boy,  for  I  was  particular  in  having  every  one  present 
and  proceeding  regularly.  The  box  was  placed  on  the 
table — all  was  silence — I  broke  the  seal — raised  the  lid, 
and  beheld — not  the  will — but  my  accursed  poem  of 
Doubting  Castle  and  Giant  Despair ! 

Could  any  mortal  have  conceived  that  this  old  with- 
ered man,  so  taciturn,  and  apparently  so  lost  to  feeling, 
could  have  treasured  up  for  years  the  thoughtless  pleas- 
antry of  a  boy,  to  punish  him  with  such  cruel  ingenuity  ? 
I  now  could  account  for  his  dying  smile,  the  only  one  he 
had  ever  given  me.  He  had  been  a  grave  man  all  his 
life,  it  was  strange  that  he  should  die  in  the  enjoyment 
of  a  joke,  and  it  was  hard  that  that  joke  should  be  at  my 
expense. 

The  lawyer  and  the  parson  seemed  at  a  loss  to  com- 
prehend the  matter.  "  Here  must  be  some  mistake," 
said  the  lawyer  ;  "  there  is  no  will  here." 

"Oh!"  said  Iron  John,  creaking  forth  his  rusty  jaws, 
"  if  it  is  a  will  you  are  looking  for,  I  believe  I  can  find 
one." 

He  retired  with  the  same  singular  smile  with  which  he 


BUCKTEORNE.  271 

had  greeted  me  on  my  arrival,  and  whicli  I  now  appre- 
hended boded  me  no  good.  In  a  little  while  he  returned 
with  a  will  perfect  at  all  points,  properly  signed  and 
sealed,  and  witnessed  and  worded  with  horrible  correct- 
ness ;  in  which  the  deceased  left  large  legacies  to  Iron 
John  and  his  daughter,  and  the  residue  of  his  fortune  to 
the  foxy-headed  boy,  who,  to  my  utter  astonishment,  was 
his  son  by  this  very  woman;  he  having  married  her 
privately,  and,  as  I  verily  believe,  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  have  an  heir,  and  so  balk  my  father  and  his 
issue  of  the  inheritance.  There  was  one  little  proviso,  in 
which  he  mentioned,  that,  having  discovered  his  nephew 
to  have  a  pretty  turn  for  poetry,  he  presumed  he  had  no 
occasion  for  wealth;  he  recommended  him,  however,  to 
the  patronage  of  his  heir,  and  requested  that  he  might 
have  a  garret,  rent-free,  in  Doubting  Castle. 


GRAVE    REFLECTIONS    OF    A    DISAF 
POINTED  MAN. 


jR.  BUCKTHORNE  had  paused  at  the  death  of 
his  uncle,  and  the  downfall  of  his  great  expec- 
tations, which  formed,  as  he  said,  an  epoch  in 
his  history ;  and  it  was  not  until  some  little  time  after- 
wards, and  in  a  very  sober  mood,  that  he  resumed  his 
party-colored  narrative. 

After  leaving  the  remains  of  my  defunct  uncle,  said  he, 
when  the  gate  closed  between  me  and  what  was  once  to 
have  been  mine,  I  felt  thrust  out  naked  into  the  world, 
and  completely  abandoned  to  fortune.  What  was  to  be- 
come of  me  ?  I  had  been  brought  up  to  nothing  but  ex- 
pectations, and  they  had  all  been  disappointed.  I  had  no 
relations  to  look  to  for  counsel  or  assistance.  The  world 
seemed  all  to  have  died  away  from  me.  Wave  after  wave 
of  relationship  had  ebbed  off,  and  I  was  left  a  mere  hulk 
upon  the  strand.  I  am  not  apt  to  be  greatly  cast  down, 
but  at  this  time  I  felt  sadly  disheartened.  I  could  not 
realize  my  situation,  nor  form  a  conjecture  how  I  was 
to    get    forward.      I    was    now    to    endeavor  to    make 

money.     The  idea  was  new  and  strange  to  me.     It  was 

373 


A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN,  273 

like  being  asked  to  discover  the  philosopher's  stone.  I 
had  never  thought  about  money  otherwise  than  to  put 
my  hand  into  my  pocket  and  find  it ;  or  if  there  were 
none  there,  to  wait  until  a  new  supply  came  from  home. 
I  had  considered  life  as  a  mere  space  of  time  to  be  filled 
up  with  enjoyments ;  but  to  have  it  portioned  out  into 
long  hours  and  days  of  toil,  merely  that  I  might  gain 
bread  to  give  me  strength  to  toil  on — to  labor  but  for  the 
purpose  of  perpetuating  a  life  of  labor,  was  new  and 
appalling  to  me.  This  may  appear  a  very  simple  matter 
to  some  ;  but  it  will  be  understood  by  every  unlucky 
wight  in  my  predicament,  who  has  had  the  misfortune  of 
being  born  to  great  expectations. 

I  passed  several  days  in  rambling  about  the  scenes  of 
my  boyhood ;  partly  because  I  absolutely  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  myself,  and  partly  because  I  did  not 
know  that  I  should  ever  see  them  again.  I  clung  to  them 
as  one  clings  to  a  wreck,  though  he  knows  he  must 
eventually  cast  himself  loose  and  swim  for  his  life.  I  sat 
down  on  a  little  hill  within  sight  of  my  paternal  home,  but 
I  did  not  venture  to  approach  it,  for  I  felt  compunction 
at  the  thoughtlessness  with  which  I  had  dissipated  my 
patrimony ;  yet  was  I  to  blame  when  I  had  the^ich  pos- 
sessions of  my  curmudgeon  of  an  uncle  in  expectation  ? 

The  new  possessor  of  the  place  was  making  great 
alterations.  The  house  was  almost  rebuilt.  The  trees 
which  stood  about  it  were  cut  down ;  my  mother's  flower- 
garden  was  thrown  into  a  lawn, — all  was  undergoing  a 
18 


274  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

change.  I  turned  my  back  upon  it  with  a  sigh,  and 
rambled  to  another  part  of  the  country. 

How  thoughtful  a  little  adversity  makes  one  !  As  I 
came  within  sight  of  the  schoolhouse  where  I  had  so 
often  been  flogged  in  the  cause  of  wisdom,  you  would 
hardly  have  recognized  the  truant  boy,  who,  but  a  few 
years  since,  had  eloped  so  heedlessly  from  its  walls.  I 
leaned  over  the  paling  of  the  play-ground,  and  watched 
the  scholars  at  their  games,  and  looked  to  see  if  there 
might  not  be  some  urchin  among  them  like  I  was  once, 
full  of  gay  dreams  about  life  and  the  world.  The  play- 
ground seemed  smaller  than  when  I  used  to  sport  about 
it.  The  house  and  park,  too,  of  the  neighboring  squire, 
the  father  of  the  cruel  Sacharissa,  had  shrunk  in  size  and 
diminished  in  magnificence.  The  distant  hills  no  longer 
appeared  so  far  off,  and,  alas !  no  longer  awakened  ideas 
of  a  fairy  land  beyond. 

As  I  was  rambling  pensively  through  a  neighboring 
meadow,  in  which  I  had  many  a  time  gathered  primroses, 
I  met  the  very  pedagogue  who  had  been  the  tyrant  and 
dread  of  my  boyhood.  I  had  sometimes  vowed  to  myself, 
when  suffering  under  his  rod,  that  I  would  have  my  re- 
venge if^ver  I  met  him  when  I  had  grown  to  be  a  man. 
The  time  had  come  ;  but  I  had  no  disposition  to  keep  my 
vow.  The  few  years  which  had  matured  me  into  a 
vigorous  man  had  shrunk  him  into  decrepitude.  He 
appeared  to  have  had  a  paralytic  stroke.  I  looked  at 
him,  and  wondered  that  this  poor  helpless  mortal  coul^ 


A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN.  275 

have  been  an  object  of  terror  to  me ;  that  I  sliould  have 
watched  with  anxiety  the  ghince  of  that  failing  eye,  or 
dreaded  the  power  of  that  trembling  hand.  He  tottered 
feebly  along  the  path,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  getting 
over  a  stile.  I  ran  and  assisted  him.  He  looked  at  me 
with  surprise,  but  did  not  recognize  me,  and  made  a  low 
bow  of  humility  and  thanks.  I  had  no  disposition  to 
make  myself  known,  for  I  felt  that  I  had  nothing  to 
boast  of.  The  pains  he  had  taken,  and  the  pains  he  had 
inflicted,  had  been  equally  useless.  His  repeated  pre- 
dictions were  fully  verified,  and  I  felt  that  little  Jack 
Buckthorne,  the  idle  boy,  had  grown  to  be  a  very  good- 
for-nothing  man. 

This  is  all  very  comfortless  detail ;  but  as  I  have  told 
you  of  my  follies,  it  is  meet  that  I  show  you  how  for  once 
I  was  schooled  for  them.  The  most  thoughtless  of  mor- 
tals will  some  time  or  other  have  his  day  of  gloom,  when 
he  will  be  compelled  to  reflect. 

I  felt  on  this  occasion  as  if  I  had  a  kind  of  penance  to 
perform,  and  I  made  a  pilgrimage  in  expiation  of  my  past 
levity.  Having  passed  a  night  at  Leamington,  I  set  off 
by  a  private  path,  which  leads  up  a  hill  through  a  grove 
and  across  quiet  fields,  till  I  came  to  the  small  village, 
or  rather  hamlet,  of  Lenington.  I  sought  the  village 
church.  It  is  an  old  low  edifice  of  gray  stone,  on  the 
brow  of  a  small  hill,  looking  over  fertile  fields,  towards 
where)  the  proud  tov/ers  of  Warwick  castle  lift  them- 
selves against  the  distant  horizon. 


276  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLEB. 

A  part  of  the  cliurcliyard  is  shaded  by  large  trees. 
Under  one  of  them  my  mother  lay  buried.  You  have  no 
doubt  thought  me  a  light,  heartless  being.  I  thought 
myself  so ;  but  there  are  moments  of  adversity  which  let 
us  into  some  feelings  of  our  nature  to  which  we  might 
otherwise  remain  perpetual  strangers. 

I  sought  my  mother's  grave ;  the  weeds  were  already 
matted  over  it,  and  the  tombstone  was  half  hid  among 
nettles.  I  cleared  them  away,  and  they  stung  my  hands ; 
but  I  was  heedless  of  the  pain,  for  my  heart  ached  too 
severely.  I  sat  down  on  the  grave,  and  read  over  and 
over  again  the  epitaph  on  the  stone. 

It  was  simple, — but  it  was  true.  I  had  written  it  my- 
self. I  had  tried  to  write  a  poetical  epitaph,  but  in  vain ; 
my  feelings  refused  to  utter  themselves  in  rhyme.  My 
heart  had  gradually  been  filling  during  my  lonely  wan- 
derings ;  it  was  now  charged  to  the  brim,  and  overflowed. 
I  sank  upon  the  grave,  and  buried  my  face  in  the  tall 
grass,  and  wept  like  a  child.  Yes,  I  wept  in  manhood 
upon  the  grave,  as  I  had  in  infancy  upon  the  bosom  of 
my  mother.  Alas !  how  little  do  we  appreciate  a  moth- 
er's tenderness  while  living!  how  heedless  are  we  in 
youth  of  all  her  anxieties  and  kindness !  But  when  she 
is  dead  and  gone  ;  when  the  cares  and  coldness  of  the 
world  come  withering  to  our  hearts ;  when  we  find  how 
hard  it  is  to  meet  with  true  sympathy ;  how  few  love  us 
for  ourselves ;  how  few  will  befriend  us  in  our  misfor- 
tunes ;  then  it  is  that  we  think  of  the  mother  we  have 


A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN.  ^2^1 

lost.  It  is  true  I  had  always  loved  my  mother,  even  in 
my  most  heedless  days  ;  but  I  felt  how  inconsiderate  and 
ineffectual  had  been  my  love.  My  heart  melted  as  I  re- 
traced the  days  of  infancy,  when  I  was  led  by  a  mother's 
hand,  and  rocked  to  sleep  in  a  mother's  arms,  and  was 
without  care  or  sorrow.  "  O  my  mother !  "  exclaimed  I, 
burying  my  face  again  in  the  grass  of  the  grave  ;  "oh  that 
I  were  once  more  by  your  side ;  sleeping  never  to  wake 
again  on  the  cares  and  troubles  of  this  world." 

I  am  not  naturally  of  a  morbid  temperament,  and  the 
violence  of  my  emotion  gradually  exhausted  itself.  It 
was  a  hearty,  honest,  natural  discharge  of  grief  which 
had  been  slowly  accumulating,  and  gave  me  wonderful 
relief.  I  rose  from  the  grave  as  if  I  had  been  offering  up 
a  sacrifice,  and  I  felt  as  if  that  sacrifice  had  been  ac- 
cepted. 

I  sat  down  again  on  the  grass,  and  plucked,  one  by 
one,  the  weeds  from  her  grave  :  the  tears  trickled  more 
slowly  down  my  cheeks,  and  ceased  to  be  bitter.  It  was 
a  comfort  to  think  that  she  had  died  before  sorrow  and 
poverty  came  upon  her  child  and  all  his  great  expecta- 
tions were  blasted. 

I  leaned  my  cheek  upon  my  hand,  and  looked  upon  the 
landscape.  Its  quiet  beauty  soothed  me.  The  whistle 
of  a  peasant  from  an  adjoining  field  came  cheerily  to 
my  ear.  I  seemed  to  respire  hope  and  comfort  with  the 
free  air  that  whispered  through  the  leaves,  and  played 
lightly  with  my  hair,  and  dried  the  tears  upon  my  cheek. 


278  TALES  OF  A  TBA  YELLEB.   ■ 

A  lark,  rising  from  the  field  before  me,  and  leaving  as  it 
were  a  stream  of  song  behind  him  as  he  rose,  lifted  my 
fancy  with  him.  He  hovered  in  the  air  just  above  the 
place  where  the  towers  of  Warwick  castle  marked  the 
horizon,  and  seemed  as  if  fluttering  with  delight  at  his 
own  melody.  " Surely,"  thought  I,  "if  there  was  such  a 
thing  as  transmigration  of  souls,  this  might  be  taken  for 
some  poet  let  loose  from  earth,  but  still  revelling  in  song, 
and  carolling  about  fair  fields  and  lordly  towers." 

At  this  moment  the  long-forgotten  feeling  of  poetry 
rose  within  me.  A  thought  sprang  at  once  into  my 
mind. — "  I  will  become  an  author  !  "  said  I.  "  I  have 
hitherto  indulged  in  poetry  as  a  pleasure,  and  it  has 
brought  me  nothing  but  pain ;  let  me  try  what  it  will  do 
when  I  cultivate  it  with  devotion  as  a  pursuit." 

The  resolution  thus  suddenly  aroused  within  me 
heaved  a  load  from  off  my  heart.  I  felt  a  confidence  in 
it  from  the  very  place  where  it  was  formed.  It  seemed 
as  though  my  mother's  spirit  whispered  it  to  me  from 
the  grave.  "  I  will  henceforth,"  said  I,  "  endeavor  to  be 
all  that  she  fondly  imagined  me.  I  will  endeavor  to  act 
as  if  she  were  witness  of  my  actions  ;  I  will  endeavor  to 
acquit  myself  in  such  a  manner  that,  when  I  revisit  her 
grave,  there  may  at  least  be  no  compunctious  bitterness 
with  my  tears." 

I  bowed  down  and  kissed  the  turf  in  solemn  attesta- 
tion of  my  vow.  I  plucked  some  primroses  that  were 
growing  there,  and  laid  them  next  my  heart.     I  left  the 


A  DISAPPOINTED  MAN.  279 

churchyard  with  my  spirit  once  more  lifted  up,  and  set 
out  a  third  time  for  London  in  the  character  of  an 
author. 

Here  my  companion  made  a  pause  and  I  waited  in 
anxious  suspense,  hoping  to  have  a  whole  volume  of 
literary  life  unfolded  to  me.  He  seemed,  however,  to 
have  sunk  into  a  fit  of  pensive  musing,  and  when„  after 
some  time,  I  gently  roused  him  by  a  question  or  two  as 
to  his  literary  career, 

"  No,"  said  he,  smiling :  "  over  that  part  of  my  story 
I  wish  to  leave  a  cloud.  Let  the  mysteries  of  the  craft 
rest  sacred  for  me.  Let  those  who  have  never  ventured 
into  the  republic  of  letters  still  look  upon  it  as  a  fairy 
land.  Let  them  suppose  the  author  the  very  being  they 
picture  him  from  his  works — I  am  not  the  man  to  mar 
their  illusion.  I  am  not  the  man  to  hint,  while  one  is 
admiring  the  silken  web  of  Persia,  that  it  has  been  spun 
from  the  entrails  of  a  miserable  worm." 

""Well,"  said  I,  "if  you  will  tell  me  nothing  of  your 
literary  history,  let  me  know  at  least  if  you  have  had  any 
further  intelligence  from  Doubting  Castle." 

"  Willingly,"  replied  he,  "  though  I  have  but  little  to 
communicate," 


THE    BOOBY    SQUIEE. 

LONG  time  elapsed,  said  Buckthorne,  without 
my  receiving  any  accounts  of  my  cousin  and 
his  estate.  Indeed,  I  felt  so  much  soreness  on 
the  subject,  that  I  wished,  if  possible,  to  shut  it  from  my 
thoughts.  At  length,  chance  took  me  to  that  part  of  the 
country,  and  I  could  not  refrain  from  making  some 
inquiries. 

I  learnt  that  my  cousin  had  grown  up  ignorant,  self- 
willed,  and  clownish.  His  ignorance  and  clownishness 
had  prevented  his  mingling  with  the  neighboring  gentry : 
in  spite  of  his  great  fortune,  he  had  been  unsuccessful  in 
an  attempt  to  gain  the  hand  of  the  daughter  of  the  par- 
son, and  had  at  length  shrunk  into  the  limits  of  such  a 
society  as  a  mere  man  of  wealth  can  gather  in  a  country 
neighborhood. 

He  kept  horses  and  hounds,  and  a  roaring  table,  at 
which  were  collected  the  loose  livers  of  the  country 
round,  and  the  shabby  gentlemen  of  a  village  in  the 
vicinity.  When  he  could  get  no  other  company,  he 
would  smoke  and  drink  with  his  own  servants,  who  in 
turn  fleeced  and  despised  him.     Still,  with  all  his  appa- 

280 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE.  281 

rent  prodigality,  lie  had  a  leaven  of  the  old  man  in  him, 
which  showed  that  he  was  his  trueborn  son.  He  lived 
far  within  his  income,  was  vulgar  in  his  expenses,  and 
penurious  in  many  points  wherein  a  gentleman  would  be 
extravagant.  His  house-servants  were  obliged  occasion- 
ally to  work  on  his  estate,  and  part  of  the  pleasure- 
grounds  were  ploughed  up  and  devoted  to  husbandry. 

His  table,  though  plentiful,  was  coarse;  his  liquors 
were  strong  and  bad;  and  more  ale  and  whiskey  were 
expended  in  his  establishment  than  generous  wine.  He 
was  loud  and  arrogant  at  his  own  table,  and  exacted  a 
rich  man's  homage  from  his  vulgar  and  obsequious 
guests. 

As  to  Iron  John,  his  old  grandfather,  he  had  grown 
impatient  of  the  tight  hand  his  own  grandson  kept  over 
him,  and  quarrelled  with  him  soon  after  he  came  to  the 
estate.  The  old  man  had  retired  to  the  neighboring 
village,  where  he  lived  on  the  legacy  of  his  late  master, 
in  a  small  cottage,  and  was  as  seldom  seen  out  of  it  as  a 
rat  out  of  his  hole  in  daylight. 

The  cub,  like  Calaban,  seemed  to  have  an  instinctive 
attachment  to  his  mother.  She  resided  with  him,  but, 
from  long  habit,  she  acted  more  as  a  servant  than  as  a 
mistress  of  the  mansion ;  for  she  toiled  in  all  the  domes- 
tic drudgery,  and  was  oftener  in  the  kitchen  than  the 
parlor.  Such  was  the  information  which  I  collected  of 
my  rival  cousin,  who  had  so  unexpectedly  elbowed  me 
out  of  my  expectations. 


282  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

I  now  felt  an  irresistible  hankering  to  pay  a  visit  to 
this  scene  of  my  boyhood,  and  to  get  a  peep  at  the  odd 
kind  of  life  that  was  passing  within  the  mansion  of  my 
maternal  ancestors.  I  determined  to  do  so  in  disguise. 
My  booby  cousin  had  never  seen  enough  of  me  to  be  very 
familiar  with  my  countenance,  and  a  few  years  make  a 
great  difference  between  youth  and  manhood.  I  under- 
stood he  was  a  breeder  of  cattle,  and  proud  of  his  stock ; 
I  dressed  myself  therefore  as  a  substantial  farmer,  and 
with  the  assistance  of  a  red  scratch  that  came  low  down 
on  my  forehead,  made  a  complete  change  in  my  physi- 
ognomy. 

It  was  past  three  o'clock  when  I  arrived  at  the  gate  of 
the  park,  and  was  admitted  by  an  old  woman  who  was 
washing  in  a  dilapidated  building,  which  had  once  been  a 
porter's  lodge.  I  advanced  up  the  remains  of  a  noble 
avenue,  many  of  the  trees  of  which  had  been  cut  down 
and  sold  for  timber.  The  grounds  were  in  scarcely 
better  keeping  than  during  my  uncle's  lifetime.  The 
grass  was  overgrown  with  weeds,  and  the  trees  wanted 
pruning  and  clearing  of  dead  branches.  Cattle  were 
grazing  about  the  lawns,  and  ducks  and  geese  swimming 
in  the  fish-ponds.  The  road  to  the  house  bore  very  few 
traces  of  carriage- wheels,  as  my  cousin  received  few  visi- 
tors but  such  as  came  on  foot  or  horseback,  and  never 
used  a  carriage  himself.  Once,  indeed,  as  I  was  told,  he 
had  the  old  family  carriage  drawn  out  from  among  the 
dust  and  cobwebs  of  the  coach-house,  and  furbished  up, 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE.  28S 

and  driven,  with  his  mother,  to  the  village  church,  to 
take  formal  possession  of  the  family  pew ;  but  there  was 
such  hooting  and  laughing  after  them,  as  they  passed 
through  the  village,  and  such  giggling  and  bantering 
about  the  church-door,  that  the  pageant  had  never  made 
a  reappearance. 

As  I  approached  the  house,  a  legion  of  whelps  sallied 
out,  barking  at  me,  accompanied  by  the  low  howling, 
rather  than  barking,  of  two  old  worn-out  blood-hounds, 
which  I  recognized  for  the  ancient  lifeguards  of  my 
uncle.  The  house  had  still  a  neglected  random  appear- 
ance, though  much  altered  for  the  better  since  my  last 
visit.  Several  of  the  windows  were  broken  and  patched 
up  with  boards,  and  others  had  been  bricked  up  to  save 
taxes.  I  observed  smoke,  however,  rising  from  the 
chimneys,  a  phenomenon  rarely  witnessed  in  the  ancient 
establishment.  On  passing  that  part  of  the  house  where 
the  dining-room  was  situated,  I  heard  the  sound  of  bois- 
terous merriment,  where  three  or  four  voices  were  talking 
at  once,  and  oaths  and  laughter  were  horribly  mingled. 

The  uproar  of  the  dogs  had  brought  a  servant  to  the 
door,  a  tall  hard-fisted  country  clown,  with  a  livery  coat 
put  over  the  under  garments  of  a  ploughman.  I  re- 
quested to  see  the  master  of  the  house,  but  was  told  that 
he  was  at  dinner  with  some  "  gemmen  "  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. I  made  known  my  business,  and  sent  in  to 
know  if  I  might  talk  with  the  master  about  his  cattle,  for 
I  felt  a  great  desire  to  have  a  peep  at  him  in  his  orgies. 


284  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

Word  was  returned  that  lie  was  engaged  witli  com- 
pany, and  could  not  attend  to  business,  but  that  if  I 
would  step  in  and  take  a  drink  of  something,  I  was 
heartily  welcome.  I  accordingly  entered  the  hall,  where 
whips  and  hats  of  all  kinds  and  shapes  were  lying  on  an 
oaken  table  ;  two  or  three  clownish  servants  were  loung- 
ing about ;  everything  had  a  look  of  confusion  and  care- 
lessness. 

The  apartments  through  which  I  passed  had  the  same 
air  of  departed  gentility  and  sluttish  housekeeping.  The 
once  rich  curtains  were  faded  and  dusty ;  the  furniture 
greased  and  tarnished.  On  entering  the  dining-room,  I 
found  a  number  of  odd,  vulgar-looking,  rustic  gentlemen, 
seated  round  a  table,  on  which  were  bottles,  decanters, 
tankards,  pipes,  and  tobacco.  Several  dogs  were  lying 
about  the  room,  or  sitting  and  watching  their  masters, 
and  one  was  gnawing  a  bone  under  a  side-table.  The 
master  of  the  feast  sat  at  the  head  of  the  board.  He  was 
greatly  altered.  He  had  grown  thickset  and  rather 
gummy,  with  a  fiery  foxy  head  of  hair.  There  was  a 
singular  mixture  of  foolishness,  arrogance,  and  conceit 
in  his  countenance.  He  was  dressed  in  a  vulgarly  fine 
style,  with  leather  breeches,  a  red  waistcoat,  and  green 
coat,  and  was  evidently,  like  his  guests,  a  little  flushed 
with  drinking,  The  whole  company  stared  at  me  with  a 
whimsical  muzzy  look,  like  men  whose  senses  were  a 
little  obfuscated  by  beer  rather  than  wine. 

My  cousin,  (God  forgive  me !  the  appellation  sticks  in 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE.  285 

my  throat),  my  cousin  invited  me  with  awkward  civility, 
or,  as  he  intended  it,  condescension,  to  sit  to  the  table 
and  drink.  We  talked,  as  usual,  about  the  weather,  the 
crops,  politics,  and  hard  times.  My  cousin  was  a  loud 
politician,  and  evidently  accustomed  to  talk  without  con- 
tradiction at  his  own  table.  He  was  amazingly  loyal, 
and  talked  of  standing  by  the  throne  to  the  last  guinea, 
"  as  every  gentleman  of  fortune  should  do."  The  village 
exciseman,  who  was  half  asleep,  could  just  ejaculate 
"  very  true  "  to  everything  he  said.  The  conversation 
turned  upon  cattle  ;  he  boasted  of  his  breed,  his  mode  of 
crossing  it,  and  of  the  general  management  of  his  estate. 
This  unluckily  drew  out  a  history  of  the  place  and  of  the 
family.  He  spoke  of  my  late  uncle  with  the  greatest 
irreverence,  which  I  could  easily  forgive.  He  mentioned 
my  name,  and  my  blood  began  to  boil.  He  described 
my  frequent  visits  to  my  uncle,  when  I  was  a  lad,  and  I 
found  the  varlet,  even  at  that  time,  imp  as  he  was,  had 
known  that  he  was  to  inherit  the  estate.  He  described 
the  scene  of  my  uncle's  death,  and  the  opening  of  the  will, 
with  a  degree  of  coarse  humor  that  I  had  not  expected 
from  him  ;  and,  vexed  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  joining 
in  the  laugh,  for  I  have  always  relished  a  joke,  eyen 
though  made  at  my  own  expense.  He  went  on  to  speak 
of  my  various  pursuits,  my  strolling  freak;  and  that 
somewhat  nettled  me ;  at  length  he  talked  of  my  par- 
ents. He  ridiculed  my  father  ;  I  stomached  even  that, 
though  with  great  difficulty.     He  mentioned  my  mother 


286  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

with  a  sneer,  and  in  an  instant  he  lay  sprawling  at  my 
feet. 

Here  a  tumult  succeeded  :  the  table  was  nearly  over- 
turned ;  bottles,  glasses,  and  tankards  rolled  crashing 
and  clattering  about  the  floor.  The  company  seized  hold 
of  both  of  us,  to  keep  us  from  doing  any  further  mischief. 
I  struggled  to  get  loose,  for  I  was  boiling  with  fury.  My 
cousin  defied  me  to  strip  and  fight  him  on  the  lawn.  I 
agreed,  for  I  felt  the  strength  of  a  giant  in  me,  and  I 
longed  to  pommel  him  soundly. 

Away  then  we  were  borne.  A  ring  was  formed.  I  had 
a  second  assigned  me  in  true  boxing  style.  My  cousin, 
as  he  advanced  to  fight,  said  something  about  his  gene- 
rosity in  showing  me  such  fair  play,  when  I  had  made 
such  an  unprovoked  attack  upon  him  at  his  own  table. 
"  Stop  there,"  cried  I,  in  a  rage.  "  Unprovoked  ?  know 
that  I  am  John  Buckthorne,  and  you  have  insulted  the 
memory  of  my  mother." 

The  lout  was  suddenly  struck  by  what  I  said  :  he  drew 
back,  and  thought  for  a  moment. 

"  Nay,  damn  it,"  said  he,  "  that's  too  much — that's 
clean  another  thing — I've  a  mother  myself — and  no  one 
shall  speak  ill  of  her,  bad  as  she  is." 

He  paused  again :  nature  seemed  to  have  a  rough 
struggle  in  his  rude  bosom. 

"  Damn  it,  cousin,"  cried  he,  "  I'm  sorry  for  what  I 
said.  Thou'st  served  me  right  in  knocking  me  down,  and 
I  like  thee  the  better  for  it.     Here's  my  hand  :  come  and 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIBK  287 

live  with  me,  and  damn  me  but  the  best  room  in  the 
house,  and  the  best  horse  in  the  stable,  shall  be  at  thy 
service." 

I  declare  to  you  I  was  strongly  moved  at  this  instance 
of  nature  breaking  her  way  through  such  a  lump  of  flesh. 
I  forgave  the  fellow  in  a  moment  his  two  heinous  crimes, 
of  having  been  born  in  wedlock,  and  inheriting  my  estate. 
I  shook  the  hand  he  offered  me,  to  convince  him  that  I 
bore  him  no  ill-will ;  and  then  making  my  way  through 
the  gaping  crowd  of  toad-eaters,  bade  adieu  to  my  uncle's 
domains  forever. — This  is  the  last  I  have  seen  or  heard 
of  my  cousin,  or  of  the  domestic  concerns  of  Doubting 
Castle, 


THE   STROLLING  MANAGER. 

S  I  was  walking  one  morning  with  Buckthorne 
near  one  of  the  principal  theatres,  he  directed 
my  attention  to  a  group  of  those  equivocal  be- 
ings that  may  often  be  seen  hovering  about  the  stage- 
doors  of  theatres.  They  were  marvellously  ill-favored  in 
their  attire,  their  coats  buttoned  up  to  their  chins ;  yet 
they  wore  their  hats  smartly  on  one  side,  and  had  a  cer- 
tain knowing,  dirty-gentlemanlike  air,  which  is  common 
to  the  subalterns  of  the  drama.  Buckthorne  knew  them 
well  by  early  experience. 

"  These,"  said  he,  "  are  the  ghosts  of  departed  kings 
and  heroes ;  fellows  who  sway  sceptres  and  truncheons ; 
command  kingdoms  and  armies ;  and  after  giving  away 
realms  and  treasures  over  night,  have  scarce  a  shilling  to 
pay  for  a  breakfast  in  the  morning.  Yet  they  have  the 
true  vagabond  abhorrence  of  all  useful  and  industrious 
employment ;  and  they  have  their  pleasures  too  ;  one  of 
which  is  to  lounge  in  this  way  in  the  sunshine,  at  the 
stage-door,  during  rehearsals,  and  make  hackneyed  thea- 
trical jokes  on  all  passers-by.  Nothing  is  more  traditional 
and  legitimate  than  the  stage.     Old  scenery,  old  clothes, 

288 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  289 

old  sentiments,  old  ranting,  and  old  jokes,  are  handed 
down  from  generation  to  generation ;  and  will  probably 
continue  to  be  so  until  time  shall  be  no  more.  Every 
hanger-on  of  a  theatre  becomes  a  wag  by  inheritance,  and 
flourishes  about  at  tap-rooms  and  sixpenny  clubs  with  the 
property  jokes  of  the  green-room." 

"While  amusing  ourselves  with  reconnoitring  this  group, 
we  noticed  one  in  particular  who  appeared  to  be  the  ora- 
cle. He  was  a  weather-beaten  veteran,  a  little  bronzed 
by  time  and  beer,  who  had  no  doubt  grown  gray  in  the 
parts  of  robbers,  cardinals,  Roman  senators,  and  walking 
noblemen. 

"There  is  something  in  the  set  of  that  hat,  and  the 
turn  of  that  physiognomy,  extremely  familiar  to  me," 
said  Buckthorne.  He  looked  a  little  closer, — "I  cannot 
be  mistaken,  that  must  be  my  old  brother  of  the  trun- 
cheon, Flimsey,  the  tragic  hero  of  the  Strolling  Com- 
pany." 

It  was  he  in  fact.  The  poor  fellow  showed  evident 
signs  that  times  went  hard  with  him,  he  was  so  finely 
and  shabbily  dressed.  His  coat  was  somewhat  thread- 
bare, and  of  the  Lord  Townly  cut;  single  breasted,  and 
scarcely  capable  of  meeting  in  front  of  his  body,  which, 
from  long  intimacy,  had  acquired  the  symmetry  and 
robustness  of  a  beer-barrel.  He  wore  a  pair  of  dingy- 
white  stockinet  pantaloons,  which  had  much  ado  to  reach 
his  waistcoat,  a  great  quantity  of  dirty  cravat ;  and  a  pair 
of  old  russet-colored  tragedy  boots. 
19 


290  TALES  OF  A   TMA  VELLER. 

When  his  companions  had  dispersed,  Buckthorne  drew 
him  aside,  and  made  himself  known  to  him.  The  tragic 
veteran  could  scarcely  recognize  him,  or  believe  that  he 
was  really  his  quondam  associate,  "little  Gentleman 
Jack."  Buckthorne  invited  him  to  a  neighboring  coffee- 
house to  talk  over  old  times ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  little 
while  we  were  put  in  possession  of  his  history  in  brief. 

He  had  continued  to  act  the  heroes  in  the  strolling 
company  for  some  time  after  Buckthorne  had  left  it,  or 
rather  had  been  driven  from  it  so  abruptly.  At  length 
the  manager  died,  and  the  troop  was  thrown  into  confu- 
sion. Every  one  aspired  to  the  crown,  every  one  was  for 
taking  the  lead;  and  the  manager's  widow,  although  a 
tragedy  queen,  and  a  brimstone  to  boot,  pronounced  it 
utterly  impossible  for  a  woman  to  keep  any  control  over 
such  a  set  of  tempestuous  rascallions. 

"Upon  this  hint,  I  spoke,"  said  Flimsey.  I  stepped 
forward,  and  offered  my  services  in  the  most  effectual 
way.  They  were  accepted.  In  a  week's  time  I  married 
the  widow,  and  succeeded  to  the  throne.  "The  funeral 
baked  meats  did  coldly  furnish  forth  the  marriage  table," 
as  Hamlet  says.  But  the  ghost  of  my  predecessor  never 
haunted  me;  and  I  inherited  crowns,  sceptres,  bowls, 
daggers,  and  all  the  stage  trappings  and  trumpery,  not 
omitting  the  widow,  without  the  least  molestation. 

I  now  led  a  flourishing  life  of  it ;  for  our  company  was 
pretty  strong  and  attractive,  and  as  my  wife  and  I  took 
the  heavy  parts  of  tragedy,  it  was  a  great  saving  to  the 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  291 

treasury.  We  carried  off  the  palm  from  all  the  rival 
shows  at  country  fairs ;  and  I  assure  you  we  have  even 
drawn  full  houses,  and  been  applauded  by  the  critics  at 
Batlemy  Fair  itself,  though  we  had  Astley's  troop,  the 
Irish  giant,  and  "the  death  of  Nelson"  in  wax  work,  to 
contend  against. 

I  soon  began  to  experience,  however,  the  cares  of  com- 
mand. I  discovered  that  there  were  cabals  breaking  out 
in  the  company,  headed  by  the  clown,  who  you  may 
recollect  was  a  terribly  peevish,  fractious  fellow,  and 
always  in  ill-humor.  I  had  a  great  mind  to  turn  him  off 
at  once,  but  I  could  not  do  without  him,  for  there  was 
not  a  droller  scoundrel  on  the  stage.  His  very  shape  was 
comic,  for  he  had  but  to  turn  his  back  upon  the  audi- 
ence, and  all  the  ladies  were  ready  to  die  with  laughing. 
He  felt  his  importance,  and  took  advantage  of  it.  He 
would  keep  the  audience  in  a  continual  roar,  and  then 
come  behind  the  scenes,  and  fret  and  fume,  and  play  the 
very  devil.  I  excused  a  great  deal  in  him,  however, 
knowing  that  comic  actors  are  a  little  prone  to  this  in- 
firmity of  temper. 

I  had  another  trouble  of  a  nearer  and  dearer  nature  to 
struggle  with,  which  was  the  affection  of  my  wife.  As 
ill  luck  would  have  it,  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  be 
very  fond  of  me,  and  became  intolerably  jealous.  I  could 
not  keep  a  pretty  girl  in  the  company,  and  hardly  dared 
embrace  an  ugly  one,  even  when  my  part  required  it.  I 
have  known  her  reduce  a  fine  lady  to  tatters,  "  to  very 


292  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

rags,"  as  Hamlet  says,  in  an  instant,  and  destroy  one  of 
the  very  best  dresses  in  the  wardrobe,  merely  because 
she  saw  me  kiss  her  at  the  side  scenes  ;  though  I  give 
you  my  honor  it  was  done  merely  by  way  of  rehearsal. 

This  was  doubly  annoying,  because  I  have  a  natural 
liking  to  pretty  faces,  and  wish  to  have  them  about  me  ; 
and  because  they  are  indispensable  to  the  success  of  a 
company  at  a  fair,  where  one  has  to  vie  with  so  many 
rival  theatres.  But  when  once  a  jealous  wife  gets  a  freak 
in  her  head,  there's  no  use  in  talking  of  interest  or  any- 
thing else.  Egad,  sir,  I  have  more  than  once  trembled 
when,  during  a  fit  of  her  tantrums,  she  was  playing  high 
tragedy,  and  flourishing  her  tin  dagger  on  the  stage,  lest 
she  should  give  way  to  her  humor,  and  stab  some  fancied 
rival  in  good  earnest. 

I  went  on  better,  however,  than  could  be  expected,  con- 
sidering the  weakness  of  my  flesh,  and  the  violence  of 
my  rib.  I  had  not  a  much  worse  time  of  it  than  old 
Jupiter,  whose  spouse  was  continually  ferreting  out  some 
new  intrigue,  and  making  the  heavens  almost  too  hot  to 
hold  him. 

At  length,  as  luck  would  have  it,  we  were  performing 
at  a  country  fair,  when  I  understood  the  theatre  of  a 
neighboring  town  to  be  vacant.  I  had  always  been 
desirous  to  be  enrolled  in  a  settled  company,  and  the 
height  of  my  desire  was  to  get  on  a  par  with  a  brother- 
in-law,  who  was  manager  of  a  regular  theatre,  and  who 
had  looked  down  upon  me.     Here  was  an  opportunity 


THE  STROLLmO  MANAGER.  293 

not  to  be  neglected.  I  concluded  an  agreement  witli  the 
proprietors,  and  in  a  few  days  opened  the  theatre  with 
great  eclat. 

Behold  me  now  at  the  summit  of  my  ambition,  "  the 
high  top-gallant  of  my  joy,"  as  Romeo  says.  No  longer 
a  chieftain  of  a  wandering  tribe,  but  a  monarch  of  a  legi- 
timate throne,  and  entitled  to  call  even  the  great  poten- 
tates of  Covent  Garden  and  Drury  Lane  cousins.  You, 
no  doubt,  think  my  happiness  complete.  Alas,  sir !  I 
was  one  of  the  most  uncomfortable  dogs  living.  No  one 
knows,  who  has  not  tried,  the  miseries  of  a  manager ; 
but  above  all  of  a  country  manager.  No  one  can  con- 
ceive the  contentions  and  quarrels  within  doors,  the 
oppressions  and  vexations  from  without.  I  was  pestered 
with  the  bloods  and  loungers  of  a  country  town,  who 
infested  my  green-room,  and  played  the  mischief  among 
my  actresses.  But  there  was  no  shaking  them  off.  It 
would  have  been  ruin  to  affront  them ;  for  though 
troublesome  friends,  they  would  have  been  dangerous 
enemies.  Then  there  was  the  village  critics  and  vil- 
lage amateurs,  who  were  continually-  tormenting  me  with 
advice,  and  getting  into  a  passion  if  I  would  not  take  it ; 
especially  the  village  doctor  and  the  village  attorney, 
who  had  both  been  to  London  occasionally,  and  knew 
what  acting  should  be. 

I  had  also  to  manage  as  arrant  a  crew  of  scapegraces 
as  ever  were  collected  together  within  the  walls  of  a 
theatre.     I  had  been  obliged  to   combine   my   original 


294  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

troop  with  some  of  the  former  troop  of  the  theatre,  who 
were  favorites  of  the  public.  Here  was  a  mixture  that 
produced  perpetual  ferment.  They  were  all  the  time 
either  fighting  or  frolicking  with  each  other,  and  I 
scarcely  know  which  mood  was  least  troublesome.  If 
they  quarrelled,  everything  went  wrong,  and  if  they  were 
friends,  they  were  continually  playing  off  some  prank 
upon  each  other,  or  upon  me ;  for  I  had  unhappily 
acquired  among  them  the  character  of  an  easy,  good- 
natured  fellow, — the  worst  character  that  a  manager  can 
possess. 

Their  waggery  at  times  drove  me  almost  crazy ;  for 
there  is  nothing  so  vexatious  as  the  hackneyed  tricks 
and  hoaxes  and  pleasantries  of  a  veteran  band  of  the- 
atrical vagabonds.  I  relished  them  well  enough,  it  is 
true,  while  I  was  merely  one  of  the  company,  but  as  a 
manager  I  found  them  detestable.  They  were  inces- 
santly bringing  some  disgrace  upon  the  theatre  by 
their  tavern  frolics  and  their  pranks  about  the  country 
town.  All  my  lectures  about  the  importance  of  keeping 
up  the  dignity  of  the  profession  and  the  respectability  of 
the  company  were  in  vain.  The  villains  could  not  sym- 
pathize with  the  delicate  feelings  of  a  man  in  station. 
They  even  trifled  with  the  seriousness  of  stage  business. 
I  have  had  the  whole  piece  interrupted,  and  a  crowded 
audience  of  at  least  twenty-five  pounds  kept  waiting, 
because  the  actors  had  hid  away  the  breeches  of  Rosa- 
lind; and  have  known  Hamlet  to  stalk  solemnly  on  to 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  295 

deliver  his  soliloquy,  with  a  dish-clout  pinned  to  his 
skirts.  Such  are  the  baleful  consequences  of  a  man- 
ager's getting  a  character  for  good-nature. 

I  was  intolerably  annoyed,  too,  by  the  great  actors 
who  came  down  starring,  as  it  is  called,  from  London. 
Of  all  baneful  influences,  keep  me  from  that  of  a  London 
star.  A  first-rate  actress  going  the  rounds  of  the  coun- 
try theatres  is  as  bad  as  a  blazing  comet  whisking  about 
the  heavens,  and  shaking  fire  and  plagues  and  discords 
from  its  tail. 

The  moment  one  of  these  "  heavenly  bodies  "  appeared 
in  my  horizon,  I  was  sure  to  be  in  hot  water.  My  thea- 
tre was  overrun  by  provincial  dandies,  copper- washed 
counterfeits  of  Bond  Street  loungers,  who  are  always 
proud  to  be  in  the  train  of  an  actress  from  town,  and 
anxious  to  be  thought  on  exceeding  good  terms  with  her. 
It  was  really  a  relief  to  me  when  some  random  young 
nobleman  would  come  in  pursuit  of  the  bait,  and  awe  all 
this  small  fry  at  a  distance.  I  have  always  felt  myself 
more  at  ease  with  a  nobleman  than  with  the  dandy  of  a 
country  town. 

And  then  the  injuries  I  suffered  in  my  personal  dignity 
and  my  managerial  authority  from  the  visits  of  these 
great  London  actors !  'Sblood,  sir,  I  was  no  longer  mas- 
ter of  myself  on  my  throne.  I  was  hectored  and  lectured 
in  my  own  green-room,  and  made  an  absolute  nincom- 
poop on  my  own  stage.  There  is  no  tyrant  so  absolute 
and  capricious  as  a  London  star  at  a  country  theatre.     I 


296  TALES  OF  A  TEA  YELLEB. 

dreaded  the  sight  of  all  of  them,  and  yet  if  I  did  not 
engage  them,  I  was  sure  of  having  the  public  clamorous 
against  me.  They  drew  full  houses,  and  appeared  to  be 
making  my  fortune ;  but  they  swallowed  up  all  the  profits 
by  their  insatiable  demands.  They  were  absolute  tape- 
worms to  my  little  theatre;  the  more  it  took  in  the 
poorer  it  grew.  They  were  sure  to  leave  me  with  an 
exhausted  public,  empty  benches,  and  a  score  or  two  of 
affronts  to  settle  among  the  townsfolk,  in  consequence  of 
misunderstandings  about  the  taking  of  places. 

But  the  worst  thing  I  had  to  undergo  in  my  manage- 
rial career  was  patronage.  Oh,  sir !  of  all  things  deliver 
me  from  the  patronage  of  the  great  people  of  a  country 
town.  It  was  my  ruin.  You  must  know  that  this  town, 
though  small,  was  filled  with  feuds,  and  parties,  and 
great  folks ;  being  a  busy  little  trading  and  manufacturing 
town.  The  mischief  was  that  their  greatness  was  of  a 
kind  not  to  be  settled  by  reference  to  the  court  calendar, 
or  college  of  heraldry ;  it  was  therefore  the  most  quarrel- 
some kind  of  greatness  in  existence.  You  smile,  sir,  but 
let  me  tell  you  there  are  no  feuds  more  furious  than  the 
frontier  feuds  which  take  place  in  these  "debatable 
lands"  of  gentility.  The  most  violent  dispute  that  I  ever 
knew  in  high  life  was  one  which  occurred  at  a  country 
town,  on  a  question  of  precedence  between  the  ladies  of  a 
manufacturer  of  pins  and  a  manufacturer  of  needles. 

At  the  town  where  I  was  situated  there  were  perpetual 
altercations  of  the  kind.     The  head  manufacturer's  lady, 


TEE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  297 

for  instance,  was  at  daggers-drawings  witli  the  head 
shopkeeper's,  and  both  were  too  rich  and  had  too  many 
friends  to  be  treated  lightly.  The  doctor's  and  lawyer's 
ladies  held  their  heads  still  higher ;  but  they  in  turn  were 
kept  in  check  by  the  wife  of  a  country  banker,  who  kept 
her  own  carriage;  while  a  masculine  widow  of  cracked 
character  and  second-handed  fashion,  who  lived  in  a 
large  house  and  claimed  to  be  in  some  way  related  to 
nobility,  looked  down  upon  them  all.  To  be  sure,  her 
manners  were  not  over-elegant,  nor  her  fortune  over- 
large  ;  but  then,  sir,  her  blood — oh,  her  blood  carried  it 
all  hollow;  there  was  no  withstanding  a  woman  with 
such  blood  in  her  veins. 

After  all,  her  claims  to  high  connection  were  ques- 
tioned, and  she  had  frequent  battles  for  precedence  at 
balls  and  assemblies  with  some  of  the  sturdy  dames  of 
the  neighborhood,  who  stood  upon  their  wealth  and  their 
virtue  ;  but  then  she  had  two  dashing  daughters,  who 
dressed  as  fine  as  dragoons,  and  had  as  high  blood  as 
their  mother,  and  seconded  her  in  everything;  so  they 
carried  their  point  with  high  heads,  and  everybody  hated, 
abused,  and  stood  in  awe  of  the  Fantadlins. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  fashionable  world  in  this  self- 
important  little  town.  Unluckily,  I  was  not  as  well  ac- 
quainted with  its  politics  as  I  should  have  been.  I  had 
found  myself  a  stranger  and  in  great  perplexities  during 
my  first  season ;  I  determined,  therefore,  to  put  myself 
under  the  patronage  of  some  powerful  name,  and  thus  to 


298  TALES  OF  A  TEA  TELLER. 

take  the  field  with  the  prejudices  of  the  public  in  my 
favor.  I  cast  around  my  thoughts  for  that  purpose,  and 
in  an  evil  hour  they  fell  upon  Mrs.  Fantadlin.  No  one 
seemed  to  me  to  have  a  more  absolute  sway  in  the  world 
of  fashion.  I  had  always  noticed  that  her  party  slammed 
the  box-door  the  loudest  at  the  theatre ;  and  had  the 
most  beaux  attending  on  them,  and  talked  and  laughed 
loudest  during  the  performance ;  and  then  the  Miss  Fan- 
tadlins  wore  always  more  feathers  and  flowers  than  any 
other  ladies ;  and  used  quizzing-glasses  incessantly.  The 
first  evening  of  my  theatre's  re-opening,  therefore,  was 
announced  in  staring  capitals  on  the  play-bills,  as  under 
the  patronage  of  "  The  Honorable  Mrs.  Fantadlin." 

Sir,  the  whole  Community  flew  to  arms !  the  banker's 
wife  felt  her  dignity  grievously  insulted  at  not  having 
the  preference ;  her  husband  being  high  bailiff  and  the 
richest  man  in  the  place.  She  immediately  issued  invi- 
tations for  a  large  party,  for  the  night  of  the  performance, 
and  asked  many  a  lady  to  it  whom  she  never  had  noticed 
before.  Presume  to  patronize  the  theatre  !  insufferable  ! 
And  then  for  me  to  dare  to  term  her  "  The  Honorable  ! " 
"What  claim  had  she  to  the  title  forsooth  ?  The  fashion- 
able world  had  long  groaned  under  the  tyranny  of  the 
Fantadlins,  and  were  glad  to  make  a  common  cause 
against  this  new  instance  of  assumption.  Those,  too, 
who  had  never  before  been  noticed  by  the  banker's  lady 
were  ready  to  enlist  in  any  quarrel  for  the  honor  of  her 
at-quaintance.      All  minor  feuds  were   forgotten.      The 


THE  8TB0LLINO  MANAGER.  299 

doctor's  lady  and  the  lawyer's  lady  met  together,  and  the 
manufacturer's  lady  and  the  shopkeeper's  lady  kissed 
each  other ;  and  all,  headed  by  the  banker's  lady,  voted 
the  theatre  a  hore,  and  determined  to  encourage  noth- 
ing but  the  Indian  Jugglers  and  Mr.  Walker's  Eidou- 
ranion. 

Alas  for  poor  Pillgarlick !  I  knew  little  the  mischief 
that  was  brewing  against  me.  My  box-book  remained 
blank ;  the  evening  arrived ;  but  no  audience.  The  music 
struck  up  to  a  tolerable  pit  and  gallery,  but  no  fashion- 
ables !  I  peeped  anxiously  from  behind  the  curtain,  but 
the  time  passed  away  ;  the  play  was  retarded,  until  pit 
and  gallery  became  furious ;  and  I  had  to  raise  the  cur- 
tain, and  play  my  greatest  part  in  tragedy  to  "  a  beggarly 
account  of  empty  boxes." 

It  is  true  the  Fantadlins  came  late,  as  was  their  custom, 
and  entered  like  a  tempest,  with  a  flutter  of  feathers  and 
red  shawls  ;  but  they  were  evidently  disconcerted  at  find- 
ing they  had  no  one  to  admire  and  envy  them,  and  were 
enraged  at  this  glaring  defection  of  their  fashionable  fol- 
lowers. All  the  beau-monde  were  engaged  at  the  banker's 
lady's  rout.  They  remained  for  some  time  in  solitary 
and  uncomfortable  state  ;  and  though  they  had  the  thea- 
tre almost  to  themselves,  yet,  for  the  first  time,  they 
talked  in  whispers.  They  left  the  house  at  the  end  of  the 
first  piece,  and  I  never  saw  them  afterwards. 

Such  was  the  rock  on  which  I  split.  I  never  got  over 
the  patronage  of  the  Fantadlin  family.     My  house  was 


300  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

deserted ;  my  actors  grew  discontented  because  tliey  were 
ill  paid ;  my  door  became  a  hammering  place  for  every 
bailiff  in  the  country ;  and  my  wife  became  more  and 
more  shrewish  and  tormenting  the  more  I  wanted  com- 
fort. 

I  tried  for  a  time  the  usual  consolation  of  a  harassed 
and  henpecked  man ;  I  took  to  the  bottle,  and  tried  to 
tipple  away  my  cares,  but  in  vain.  I  don't  mean  to  decry 
the  bottle ;  it  is  no  doubt  an  excellent  remedy  in  many 
cases,  but  it  did  not  answer  in  mine.  It  cracked  my  voice, 
coppered  my  nose,  but  neither  improved  my  wife  nor  my 
affairs.  My  establishment  became  a  scene  of  confusion 
and  peculation.  I  was  considered  a  ruined  man,  and  of 
course  fair  game  for  every  one  to  pluck  at,  as  every  one 
plunders  a  sinking  ship.  Day  after  day  some  of  the  troop 
deserted,  and,  like  deserting  soldiers,  carried  off  their 
arms  and  accoutrements  with  them.  In  this  manner  my 
wardrobe  took  legs  and  walked  away,  my  finery  strolled 
all  over  the  country,  my  swords  and  daggers  glittered 
in  every  barn,  until,  at  last,  my  tailor  made  "one  fell 
swoop,"  and  carried  off  three  dress-coats,  half  a  dozen 
doublets,  and  nineteen  pair  of  flesh-colored  pantaloons. 
This  was  the  "  be  all  and  the  end  all "  of  my  fortune. 
I  no  longer  hesitated  what  to  do.  Egad,  thought  I,  since 
stealing  is  the  order  of  the  day,  I'll  steal  too;  so  I 
secretly  gathered  together  the  jewels  of  my  wardrobe, 
packed  up  a  hero's  dress  in  a  handkerchief,  slung  it  on 
the  end  of  a  tragedy  sword,  and  quietly  stole  off  at  dead 


TEE  STMOLLING  MANAGER.  301 

of  night,  "  the  bell  then  beating  one,"  leaving  my  queen 
and  kingdom  to  the  mercy  of  my  rebellious  subjects,  and 
my  merciless  foes  the  bumbailiffs. 

Such,  sir,  was  the  "  end  of  all  my  greatness."  I  was 
heartily  cured  of  all  passion  for  governing,  and  re- 
turned once  more  into  the  ranks.  I  had  for  some  time 
the  usual  run  of  an  actor's  life.  I  played  in  various  coun- 
try theatres,  at  fairs,  and  in  barns ;  sometimes  hard 
pushed,  sometimes  flush,  until,  on  one  occasion,  I  came 
within  an  ace  of  making  my  fortune,  and  becoming  one  of 
the  wonders  of  the  age. 

I  was  playing  the  part  of  Richard  the  Third  in  a  coun- 
try barn,  and  in  my  best  style  ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
was  a  little  in  liquor,  and  the  critics  of  the  company 
always  observed  thai  I  played  with  most  effect  when  I 
had  a  glass  too  much.  There  was  a  thunder  of  applause 
when  I  came  to  that  part  where  Richard  cries  for  "  a 
horse !  a  horse !  "  My  cracked  voice  bad  always  a 
wonderful  effect  here  ;  it  was  like  two  voices  run  into 
one  ;  you  would  have  thought  two  men  had  been  calling 
for  a  horse,  or  that  Richard  had  called  for  two  horses. 
And  when  I  flung  the  taunt  at  Richmond,  "  Richard  is 
hoarse  with  calling  thee  to  arms,"  I  thought  the  barn 
would  have  come  down  about  my  ears  with  the  raptures 
of  the  audience. 

The  very  next  morning  a  person  waited  upon  me  at  my 
lodgings.  I  saw  at  once  he  was  a  gentleman  by  his 
dress  ;  for  he  had  a  large  brooch  in  his  bosom,  thick 


tyQ2  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

rings  on  his  fingers,  and  used  a  quizzing-glass.  And  a 
gentleman  he  proved  to  be  ;  for  I  soon  ascertained  that 
he  was  a  kept  author,  or  kind  of  literary  tailor  to  one  of 
the  great  London  theatres  ;  one  who  worked  under  the 
manager's  directions,  and  cut  up  and  cut  down  plays,  and 
patched  and  pieced,  and  new  faced,  and  turned  them 
inside  out ;  in  short,  he  was  one  of  the  readiest  and 
greatest  writers  of  the  day. 

He  was  now  on  a  foraging  excursion  in  quest  of  some- 
thing that  might  be  got  up  for  a  prodigy.  The  theatre, 
it  seems,  was  in  desperate  condition — nothing  but  a 
miracle  could  save  it.  He  had  seen  me  act  Eichard  the 
night  before,  and  had  pitched  upon  me  for  that  miracle. 
I  had  a  remarkable  bluster  in  my  style  and  swagger  in 
my  gait.  I  certainly  differed  from  all  other  heroes  of  the 
barn  :  so  the  thought  struck  the  agent  to  bring  me  out  as 
a  theatrical  wonder,  as  the  restorer  of  natural  and  legiti- 
mate acting,  as  the  only  one  who  could  understand  and 
act  Shakspeare  rightly. 

When  he  opened  his  plan  I  shrunk  from  it  with  becom- 
ing modesty,  for  well  as  I  thought  of  myself,  I  doubted 
my  competency  to  such  an  undertaking. 

I  hinted  at  my  imperfect  knowledge  of  Shakspeare, 
having  played  his  characters  only  after  mutilated  copies, 
interlarded  with  a  great  deal  of  my  own  talk  by  way  of 
helping  memory  or  heightening  the  effect. 

"  So  much  the  better ! "  cried  the  gentleman  with 
rings  on  his  fingers  ;  "  so  much  the  better  !     New  read- 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER.  303 

ings,  sir ! — new  readings  !  Don't  study  a  line — let  us 
have  Shakspeare  after  your  own  fashion." 

"  But  then  my  voice  was  cracked ;  it  could  not  fill  a 
London  theatre." 

*'  So  much  the  better  !  so  much  the  better  !  The  pub- 
lic is  tired  of  intonation — the  ore  rotundo  has  had  its  day. 
No,  sir,  your  cracked  voice  is  the  very  thing ; — spit  and 
splutter,  and  snap  and  snarl,  and  '  play  the  very  dog ' 
about  the  stage,  and  you'll  be  the  making  of  us." 

"  But  then," — I  could  not  help  blushing  to  the  end  of 
my  very  nose  as  I  said  it,  but  I  was  determined  to  be 
candid, — "but  then,"  added  I,  "there  is  one  awkward 
circumstance  :  I  have  an  unlucky  habit  —  my  misfor- 
tunes, and  the  exposures  to  which  one  is  subjected  in 
country  barns,  have  obliged  me  now  and  then  to — to — 
take  a  drop  of  something  comfortable  —  and  so — and 
so" 

"  What !  you  drink  ?  "  cried  the  agent,  eagerly. 

I  bowed  my  head  in  blushing  acknowledgment. 

"  So  much  the  better !  so  much  the  better !  The  irreg- 
ularities of  genius!  A  sober  fellow  is  commonplace. 
The  public  like  an  actor  that  drinks.  Give  me  your 
hand,  sir.     You're  the  very  man  to  make  a  dash  with." 

I  still  hung  back  with  lingering  diffidence,  declaring 
myself  unworthy  of  such  praise. 

"  'Sblood,  man,"  cried  he,  "  no  praise  at  all.  Tou 
don't  imagine  /  think  you  a  wonder ;  I  only  want  the 
public  to  think  so.     Nothing  is  so  easy  as  to  gull  the 


304  TALES  OF  A  TRAVEL  LEU. 

public,  if  you  only  set  up  a  prodigy.  Common  taleni 
anybody  can  measure  by  common  rule ;  but  a  prodigy 
sets  all  rule  and  measurement  at  defiance." 

These  words  opened  my  eyes  in  an  instant :  we  now 
came  to  a  proper  understanding,  less  flattering,  it  is  true, 
to  my  vanity,  but  much  more  satisfactory  to  my  judg- 
ment. 

It  was  agreed  that  I  should  make  my  appearance 
before  a  London  audience,  as  a  dramatic  sun  just  burst- 
ing from  behind  the  clouds  :  one  that  was  to  banish  all 
the  lesser  lights  and  false  fires  of  the  stage.  Every  pre- 
caution was  to  be  taken  to  possess  the  public  mind  at 
every  avenue.  The  pit  was  to  be  packed  with  sturdy 
clappers  ;  the  newspapers  secured  by  vehement  puffers  ; 
every  theatrical  resort  to  be  haunted  by  hireling  talkers. 
In  a  word,  every  engine  of  theatrical  humbug  was  to  be 
put  in  action.  Wherever  I  differed  from  former  actors, 
it  was  to  be  maintained  that  I  was  right  and  they  were 
wrong.  If  I  ranted,  it  was  to  be  pure  passion  ;  if  I  were 
vulgar,  it  was  to  be  pronounced  a  familiar  touch  of 
nature ;  if  I  made  any  queer  blunder,  it  was  to  be  a  new 
reading.  If  my  voice  cracked,  or  I  got  out  in  my  part,  I 
was  only  to  bounce,  and  grin,  and  snarl  at  the  audience, 
and  make  any  horrible  grimace  that  came  into  my 
head,  and  my  admirers  were  to  call  it  "  a  great  point," 
and  to  fall  back  and  shout  and  yell  with  rapture. 

"In  short,"  said  the  gentleman  with  the  quizzing- 
glass,  "  strike  out  boldly  and  bravely  :  no  matter  how  or 


TEE  8TR0LLIN0  MANAGER.  305 

wliat  you  do,  so  that  it  be  but  odd  and  strange.  If  you 
do  but  escape  pelting  the  first  night,  your  fortune  and 
the  fortune  of  the  theatre  is  made." 

I  set  off  for  London,  therefore,  in  company  with  the 
kept  author,  full  of  new  plans  and  new  hopes.  I  was  to 
be  the  restorer  of  Shakspeare  and  Nature,  and  the  legiti- 
mate drama  ;  my  very  swagger  was  to  be  heroic,  and  my 
cracked  voice  the  standard  of  elocution.  Alas,  sir,  my 
usual  luck  attended  me  :  before  I  arrived  at  the  metro- 
polis a  rival  wonder  had  appeared ;  a  woman  who  could 
dance  the  slack  rope,  and  run  up  a  cord  from  the  stage 
to  the  gallery  with  fireworks  all  round  her.  She  was 
seized  on  by  the  manager  with  avidity.  She  was  the 
saving  of  the  great  national  theatre  for  the  season. 
Nothing  was  talked  of  but  Madame  Saqui's  fireworks 
and  flesh-colored  pantaloons ;  and  Nature,  Shakspeare, 
the  legitimate  drama,  and  poor  Pillgarlick,  were  com- 
pletely left  in  the  lurch. 

When  Madame  Saqui's  performance  grew  stale,  other 
wonders  succeeded:  horses,  and  harlequinades,  and 
mummery  of  all  kinds ;  until  another  dramatic  prodigy 
was  brought  forward  to  play  the  very  game  for  which  I 
had  been  intended.  I  called  upon  the  kept  author  for  an 
explanation,  but  he  was  deeply  engaged  in  writing  a 
melodrama  or  a  pantomime,  and  was  extremely  testy  on 
being  interrupted  in  his  studies.  However,  as  the 
theatre  was  in  some  measure  pledged  to  provide  for  me, 
the  manager  acted,  according  to  the  usual  phrase,  "like 
20 


306  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

a  man  of  honor,"  and  I  received  an  appointment  in  the 
corps.  It  had  been  a  turn  of  a  die  whether  I  should  be 
Alexander  the  Great  or  Alexander  the  coppersmith — the 
latter  carried  it.  I  could  not  be  put  at  the  head  of  the 
drama,  so  I  was  put  at  the  tail  of  it.  In  other  words,  I 
was  enrolled  among  the  number  of  what  are  called  useful 
men;  those  who  enact  soldiers,  senators,  and  Banquo's 
shadowy  line.  I  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  my  lot ;  for 
I  have  always  been  a  bit  of  a  philosopher.  If  my  situa- 
tion was  not  splendid,  it  at  least  was  secure ;  and  in  fact 
I  have  seen  half  a  dozen  prodigies  appear,  dazzle,  burst 
like  bubbles,  and  pass  away,  and  yet  here  I  am,  snug, 
unenvied,  and  unmolested,  at  the  foot  of  the  profession. 

You  may  smile;  but  let  me  tell  you,  we  "useful  men" 
are  the  only  comfortable  actors  on  the  stage.  We  are 
safe  from  hisses,  and  below  the  hope  of  applause.  "We 
fear  not  the  success  of  rivals,  nor  dread  the  critic's 
pen.  So  long  as  we  get  the  words  of  our  parts,  and  they 
are  not  often  many,  it  is  all  we  care  for.  We  have  our 
own  merriment,  our  own  friends,  and  our  own  admirers, 
— for  every  actor  has  his  friends  and  admirers,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest.  The  first-rate  actor  dines  with  the 
noble  amateur,  and  entertains  a  fashionable  table  with 
Bcraps  and  songs  and  theatrical  slip-slop.  The  second- 
rate  actors  have  their  second-rate  friends  and  admirers, 
with  whom  they  likewise  spout  tragedy  and  talk  slip- 
slop ; — and  so  down  even  to  us ;  who  have  our  friends  and 
admirers  among  spruce  clerks  and  aspiring  apprentices- 


THE  STROLLINO  MANAGER.  307 

who  treat  us  to  a  dinner  now  and  then,  and  enjoy  at 
tenth  hand  the  same  scraps  and  songs  and  slip-slop  that 
have  been  served  up  by  our  more  fortunate  brethren  at 
the  tables  of  the  great. 

I  now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  theatrical  life,  ex- 
perience what  true  pleasure  is.  I  have  known  enough  of 
notoriety  to  pity  the  poor  devils  who  are  called  favorites 
of  the  public.  I  would  rather  be  a  kitten  in  the  arms  of 
a  spoiled  child,  to  be  one  moment  patted  and  pampered 
and  the  next  moment  thumped  over  the  head  with  the 
spoon.  I  smile  to  see  our  leading  actors  fretting  them- 
selves with  envy  and  jealousy  about  a  trumpery  renown, 
questionable  in  its  quality,  and  uncertain  in  its  duration. 
I  laugh,  too,  though  of  course  in  my  sleeve,  at  the  bustle 
and  importance,  and  trouble  and  perplexities  of  our 
manager — who  is  harassing  himself  to  death  in  the  hope- 
less effort  to  please  everybody. 

I  have  found  among  my  fellow-subalterns  two  or  three 
quondam  managers,  who  like  myself  have  wielded  the 
sceptres  of  country  theatres,  and  we  have  many  a  sly 
joke  together  at  the  expense  of  the  manager  and  the 
public.  Sometimes,  too,  we  meet,  like  deposed  and 
exiled  kings,  talk  over  the  events  of  our  respective 
reigns,  moralize  over  a  tankard  of  ale,  and  laugh  at  the 
humbug  of  the  great  and  little  world ;  which,  I  take  it,  is 
the  essence  of  practical  philosophy. 

Thus  end  the  anecdotes  of  Buckthorne  and  his  friends. 


308  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

It  grieves  me  much  that  I  could  not  procure  from  him 
further  particulars  of  his  history,  and  especially  of  that 
part  of  it  which  passed  in  town.  He  had  evidently  seen 
much  of  literary  life ;  and,  as  he  had  never  risen  to  emi- 
nence in  letters,  and  yet  was  free  from  the  gall  of  disap- 
pointment, I  had  hoped  to  gain  some  candid  intelligence 
concerning  his  contemporaries.  The  testimony  of  such 
an  honest  chronicler  would  have  been  particularly  val- 
uable at  the  present  time ;  when,  owing  to  the  extreme 
fecundity  of  the  press,  and  the  thousand  anecdotes,  criti- 
cisms, and  biographical  sketches  that  are  daily  poured 
forth  concerning  public  characters,  it  is  extremely  diffi- 
cult to  get  at  any  truth  concerning  them. 

He  was  always,  however,  excessively  reserved  and  fas- 
tidious on  this  point,  at  which  I  very  much  wondered, 
authors  in  general  appearing  to  think  each  other  fair 
game,  and  being  ready  to  serve  each  other  up  for  the 
amusement  of  the  public. 

A  few  mornings  after  hearing  the  history  of  the  ex- 
manager,  I  was  surprised  by  a  visit  from  Buckthorne 
before  I  was  out  of  bed.     He  was  dressed  for  travelling. 

*'  Give  me  joy  !  give  me  joy !  "  said  he,  rubbing  his 
hands  with  the  utmost  glee,  "  my  great  expectations  are 
realized! " 

I  gazed  at  him  with  a  look  of  wonder  and  inquiry. 

"  My  booby  cousin  is  dead  !  "  cried  he ;  "  may  he  rest 
in  peace !  he  nearly  broke  his  neck  in  a  fall  from  his 
horse   in  a  fox-chase.     By  good   luck,   he    lived    long 


THE  STROLLING  MANAGER,  309 

enough  to  make  his  will.  He  has  made  me  his  heir, 
partly  out  of  an  odd  feeling  of  retributive  justice,  and 
partly  because,  as  he  says,  none  of  his  own  family  nor 
friends  know  how  to  enjoy  such  an  estate.  I'm  off  to  the 
country  to  take  possession.  I've  done  with  authorship. 
That  for  the  critics ! "  said  he,  snapping  his  finger. 
"  Come  down  to  Doubting  Castle,  when  I  get  settled, 
and,  egad,  I'll  give  you  a  rouse."  So  saying,  he  shook 
me  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  bounded  off  in  high  spirits. 

A  long  time  elapsed  before  I  heard  from  him  again. 
Indeed,  it  was  but  lately  that  I  received  a  letter,  written 
in  the  happiest  of  moods.  He  was  getting  the  estate  in 
fine  order ;  everything  went  to  his  wishes ;  and  what  was 
more,  he  was  married  to  Sacharissa,  who  it  seems  had 
always  sntertained  an  ardent  though  secret  attachment 
for  him,  which  he  fortunately  discovered  just  after  com- 
ing to  his  estate. 

"  I  find,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  little  given  to  the  sin  of 
authorship,  which  I  renounce  :  if  the  anecdotes  I  have 
given  you  of  my  story  are  of  any  interest,  you  may  make 
use  of  them ;  but  come  down  to  Doubting  Castle,  and  see 
how  we  live,  and  I'll  give  you  my  whole  London  life  over 
a  social  glass  ;  and  a  rattling  history  it  shall  be  about 
authors  and  reviewers." 

If  ever  I  visit  Doubting  Castle  and  get  the  history  he 
promises,  the  public  shall  be  sure  to  hear  of  it. 


PAET  THIED. 


THE    ITALIAN    BANDITTI 


THE    INN    AT   TEREACINA. 

RACK  !  crack !  crack !  crack !  crack  ! 

"Here  comes  the  estafette  from  Naples,"  said 
mine  host  of  the  inn  at  Terracina ;  "  bring  out 
the  relay." 

The  estafette  came  galloping  up  the  road  according  to 
custom,  brandishing  over  his  head  a  short-handled  whip, 
with  a  long,  knotted  lash,  every  smack  of  which  made  a 
report  like  a  pistol.  He  was  a  tight,  square-set  young 
fellow,  in  the  usual  uniform  :  a  smart  blue  coat,  orna- 
mented with  facings  and  gold  lace,  but  so  short  behind 
as  to  reach  scarcely  below  his  waistband,  and  cocked  up 
not  unlike  the  tail  of  a  wren ;  a  cocked  hat  edged  with 
gold  lace  ;  a  pair  of  stiff  riding-boots  ;  but,  instead  of  the 
usual  leathern  breeches,  he  had  a  fragment  of  a  pair  of 
drawers,  that  scarcely  furnished  an  apology  for  modesty 
to  hide  behind. 

The  estafette  galloped  up  to  the  door,  and  jumped 
from  his  horse. 

"  A  glass  of  rosolio,  a  fresh  horse,  and  a  pair  of 
breeches,"  said  he,  "  and  quickly,  jper  Vamor  di  Dio,  I  am 

behind  my  time,  and  must  be  off!  " 

313 


314  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

"  San  Gennaro  ! "  replied  the  host ;  "  why,  where  hast 
thou  left  thy  garment  ?  " 

"  Among  the  robbers  between  this  and  Fondi." 

"  What,  rob  an  estafette  !  I  never  heard  of  such  folly. 
"What  could  they  hope  to  get  from  thee  ?  " 

"  My  leather  breeches  !  "  replied  the  estafette.  "  They 
were  bran  new,  and  shone  like  gold,  and  hit  the  fancy  of 
the  captain." 

"  Well,  these  fellows  grow  worse  and  worse.  To  med- 
dle with  an  estafette  !  and  that  merely  for  the  sake  of  a 
pair  of  leather  breeches  !  " 

The  robbing  of  the  government  messenger  seemed 
to  strike  the  host  with  more  astonishment  than  any 
other  enormity  that  had  taken  place  on  the  road;  and, 
indeed,  it  was  the  first  time  so  wanton  an  outrage 
had  been  committed ;  the  robbers  generally  taking 
care  not  to  meddle  with  anything  belonging  to  govern- 
ment. 

The  estafette  was  by  this  time  equipped,  for  he  had  not 
lost  an  instant  in  making  his  preparations  while  talking. 
The  relay  was  ready  ;  the  rosolio  tossed  off ;  he  grasped 
the  reins  and  the  stirrup. 

"  Were  there  many  robbers  in  the  band  ? "  said  a 
handsome,  dark  young  man,  stepping  forward  from  the 
door  of  the  inn. 

"  As  formidable  a  band  as  ever  I  saw,"  said  the  esta- 
fette, springing  into  the  saddle. 

"  Are  they  cruel  to  travellers  ?  "  said  a  beautiful  young 


THE  INN  AT  TERBACINA.  315 

Venetian  lady,  who  liad  been  hanging  on  the  gentleman's 
arm. 

"  Cruel,  signora  !  "  echoed  the  estafette,  giving  a  glance 
at  the  lady  as  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse.  "  Corpo  di 
Bacco !      They   stiletto   all    the    men ;    and,   as    to  the 

women  " Crack  !    crack !  crack !  crack !  crack ! — • 

The  last  words  were  drowned  in  the  smacking  of  the 
whip,  and  away  galloped  the  estafette  along  the  road  to 
the  Pontine  marshes. 

"Holy  Virgin!"  ejaculated  the  fair  Venetian,  "what 
will  become  of  us  !  " 

The  inn  of  which  we  are  speaking  stands  just  outside  of 
the  walls  of  Terracina,  under  a  vast  precipitous  height  of 
rocks,  crowned  with  the  ruins  of  the  castle  of  Theodric 
the  Goth.  The  situation  of  Terracina  is  remarkable.  It 
is  a  little,  ancient,  lazy  Italian  town,  on  the  frontiers  of 
the  Roman  territory.  There  seems  to  be  an  idle  pause 
in  everything  about  the  place.  The  Mediterranean 
spreads  before  it — that  sea  without  flux  or  reflux.  The 
port  is  without  a  sail,  excepting  that  once  in  a  while  a 
solitary  felucca  may  be  seen  disgorging  its  holy  cargo  of 
baccala,  or  codfish,  the  meagre  provision  for  the  quare- 
sima,  or  Lent.  The  inhabitants  are  apparently  a  listless, 
heedless  race,  as  people  of  soft  sunny  climates  are  apt  to 
be  ;  but  under  this  passive,  indolent  exterior  are  said  to 
lurk  dangerous  qualities.  They  are  supposed  by  many 
to  be  little  better  than  the  banditti  of  the  neighboring 
mountains,  and  indeed  to  hold  a  secret  correspondence 


316  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

witK  them.  The  solitary  watch-towers,  erected  here  and 
there  along  the  coast,  speak  of  pirates  and  corsairs  that 
hover  about  these  shores  ;  while  the  low  huts,  as  stations 
for  soldiers,  which  dot  the  distant  road,  as  it  winds  up 
through  an  olive  grove,  intimate  that  in  the  ascent  there 
is  danger  for  the  traveller,  and  facility  for  the  bandit.  In- 
deed, it  is  between  this  town  and  Fondi  that  the  road  to 
Naples  is  most  infested  by  banditti.  It  has  several  wind- 
ings and  solitary  places,  where  the  robbers  are  enabled 
to  see  the  traveller  from  a  distance,  from  the  brows  of 
hills  or  impending  precipices,  and  to  lie  in  wait  for  him 
at  lonely  and  difficult  passes. 

The  Italian  robbers  are  a  desperate  class  of  men,  that 
have  almost  formed  themselves  into  an  order  of  society. 
They  wear  a  kind  of  uniform,  or  rather  costume,  which 
openly  designates  their  profession.  This  is  probably 
done  to  diminish  its  skulking,  lawless  character,  and  to 
give  it  something  of  a  military  air  in  the  eyes  of  the 
common  people ;  or,  perhaps,  to  catch  by  outward  show 
and  finery  the  fancies  of  the  young  men  of  the  villages, 
and  thus  to  gain  recruits.  Their  dresses  are  often  very 
rich  and  picturesque.  They  wear  jackets  and  breeches 
of  bright  colors,  sometimes  gayly  embroidered;  their 
breasts  are  covered  with  medals  and  relics ;  their  hats 
are  broad-brimmed,  with  conical  crowns,  decorated  with 
feathers,  of  variously-colored  ribands  ;  their  hair  is  some- 
times gathered  in  silk  nets ;  they  wear  a  kind  of  sandal  of 
cloth  or  leather,  bound  round  the  legs  with  thongs,  and 


THE  INN  AT  TERRACINA.  317 

extremely  flexible,  to  enable  tliem  to  scramble  with  ease 
and  celerity  among  the  mountain  precipices ;  a  broad 
belt  of  cloth,  or  a  sash  of  silk  net,  is  stuck  full  of  pistols 
and  stilettos ;  a  carbine  is  slung  at  the  back ;  while  about 
them  is  generally  thrown,  in  a  negligent  manner,  a  great 
dingy  mantle,  which  serves  as  a  protection  in  storms,  or 
a  bed  in  their  bivouacs  among  the  mountains. 

They  range  over  a  great  extent  of  wild  country,  along 
the  chain  of  Apennines,  bordering  on  different  states; 
they  know  all  the  difficult  passes,  the  short  cuts  for 
retreat,  and  the  impracticable  forests  of  the  mountain 
summits,  where  no  force  dare  follow  them.  They  are 
secure  of  the  good- will  of  the  inhabitants  of  those  regions, 
a  poor  and  semi-barbarous  race,  whom  they  never  disturb 
and  often  enrich.  Indeed,  they  are  considered  as  a  sort 
of  illegitimate  heroes  among  the  mountain  villages,  and 
in  certain  frontier  towns  where  they  dispose  of  their 
plunder.  Thus  countenanced,  and  sheltered,  and  secure 
in  the  fastnesses  of  their  mountains,  the  robbers  have  set 
the  weak  police  of  the  Italian  states  at  defiance.  It  is  in 
vain  that  their  names  and  descriptions  are  posted  on  the 
doors  of  country  churches,  and  rewards  offered  for  them 
alive  or  dead ;  the  villagers  are  either  too  much  awed  by 
the  terrible  instances  of  vengeance  inflicted  by  the  bri- 
gands, or  have  too  good  an  understanding  with  them  to  be 
their  betrayers.  It  is  true  they  are  now  and  then  hunted 
and  shot  down  like  beasts  of  prey  by  the  gens-d'armeSy 
their  heads  put  in  iron  cages,  and  stuck  >upon  posts  by 


318  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

the  roadside,  or  their  limbs  hung  up  to  blacken  in  the 
trees  near  the  places  where  they  have  committed  their 
atrocities ;  but  these  ghastly  spectacles  only  serve  to 
make  some  dreary  pass  of  the  road  still  more  dreary, 
and  to  dismay  the  traveller,  without  deterring  the 
bandit. 

At  the  time  that  the  estafette  made  his  sudden  appear- 
ance almost  in  cuerpo,  as  has  been  mentioned,  the 
audacity  of  the  robbers  had  risen  to  an  unparalleled 
height.  They  had  laid  villas  under  contribution;  they 
had  sent  messages  into  country  towns,  to  tradesmen  and 
rich  burghers,  demanding  supplies  of  money,  of  clothing, 
or  even  of  luxuries,  with  menaces  of  vengeance  in  case  of 
refusal.  They  had  their  spies  and  emissaries  in  every 
town,  village,  and  inn,  along  the  principal  roads,  to  give 
them  notice  of  the  movements  and  quality  of  travellers. 
They  had  plundered  carriages,  carried  people  of  rank 
and  fortune  into  the  mountains,  and  obliged  them  to 
write  for  heavy  ransoms,  and  had  committed  outrages  on 
females  who  had  fallen  into  their  hands. 

Such  was  briefly  the  state  of  the  robbers,  or  rather 
such  was  the  account  of  the  rumors  prevalent  concerning 
them,  when  the  scene  took  place  at  the  inn  of  Terracina. 
The  dark  handsome  young  man  and  the  Venetian  lady, 
incidentally  mentioned,  had  arrived  early  that  afternoon 
in  a  private  carriage  drawn  by  mules,  and  attended  by  a 
single  servant.  They  had  been  recently  married,  were 
spending  the   honey-moon  in  travelling  through  these 


TEE  INN  AT  TERR  AC  IN  A.  3I9 

delicious  countries,  and  were  on  their  way  to  visit  a  rich 
aunt  of  the  bride  at  Naples. 

The  lady  was  young,  and  tender,  and  timid.  The 
stories  she  had  heard  along  the  road  had  filled  her  with 
apprehension,  not  more  for  herself  than  for  her  husband ; 
for  though  she  had  been  married  almost  a  month,  she 
still  loved  him  almost  to  idolatry.  When  she  reached 
Terracina,  the  rumors  of  the  road  had  increased  to  an 
alarming  magnitude ;  and  the  sight  of  two  robbers'  skulls, 
grinning  in  iron  cages,  on  each  side  of  the  old  gateway  of 
the  town,  brought  her  to  a  pause.  Her  husband  had 
tried  in  vain  to  reassure  her ;  they  had  lingered  all  the 
afternoon  at  the  inn,  until  it  was  too  late  to  think  of 
starting  that  evening,  and  the  parting  words  of  the 
estafette  completed  her  affright. 

"  Let  us  return  to  Rome,"  said  she,  putting  her  arm 
within  her  husband's,  and  drawing  towards  him  as  if  for 
protection.  "Let  us  return  to  Rome,  and  give  up  this 
visit  to  Naples." 

"  And  give  up  the  visit  to  your  aunt,  too  ?  "  said  the 
husband. 

"Nay — what  is  my  aunt  in  comparison  with  your 
safety  ?  "  said  she,  looking  up  tenderly  in  his  face. 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  and  manner  that 
showed  she  really  was  thinking  more  of  her  husband's 
safety  at  the  moment  than  of  her  own ;  and  being  so 
recently  married,  and  a  match  of  pure  affection,  too,  it  is 
very  possible  that  she  was ;  at  least  her  husband  thought 


320  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

SO.  Indeed,  any  one  wlio  has  heard  the  sweet  musical 
tone  of  a  Venetian  voice,  and  the  melting  tenderness  of 
a  Venetian  phrase,  and  felt  the  soft  witchery  of  a  Vene- 
tian eye,  would  not  wonder  at  the  husband's  believing 
whatever  they  professed.  He  clasped  the  white  hand  that 
had  been  laid  within  his,  put  his  arm  round  her  slen- 
der W9ist,  and  drawing  her  fondly  to  his  bosom,  "  This 
night,  at  least,"  said  he,  "  we  will  pass  at  Terracina." 

Crack !  crack !  crack !  crack !  crack !  Another  appari- 
tion of  the  road  attracted  the  attention  of  mine  host  and 
his  guests.  From  the  direction  of  the  Pontine  marshes, 
a  carriage,  drawn  by  half  a  dozen  horses,  came  driving 
at  a  furious  rate ;  the  postilions  smacking  their  whips 
like  mad,  as  is  the  case  when  conscious  of  the  greatness 
or  of  the  munificence  of  their  fare.  It  was  a  landaulet 
with  a  servant  mounted  on  the  dickey.  The  compact, 
highly  finished,  yet  proudly  simple  construction  of  the 
carriage ;  the  quantity  of  neat,  well-arranged  trunks  and 
conveniences ;  the  loads  of  box-coats  on  the  dickey ;  the 
fresh,  burly,  bluff-looking  face  of  the  master  at  the  win- 
dow; and  the  ruddy,  round-headed  servant,  in  close- 
cropped  hair,  short  coat,  drab  breeches,  and  long  gaiters, 
all  proclaimed  at  once  that  this  was  the  equipage  of  an 
Englishman. 

"  Horses  to  Fondi,"  said  the  Englishman,  as  the  land- 
lord came  bowing  to  the  carriage-door. 

*'  Would  not  his  Excellenza  alight,  and  take  some  re- 
freshments ?  " 


TEE  INN  AT  TEBBAGINA,  321 

"  No — lie  did  not  mean  to  eat  until  he  got  to  Fondi." 
"  But  the  horses  will  be  some  time  in  getting  ready." 
"  Ah !  that's  always  the  way ;  nothing  but  delay  in  this 
cursed  country ! " 

"  If  his  Escellenza  would  only  walk  into  the  house  " — 
"  No,  no,  no ! — I  tell  you  no ! — I  want  nothing  but 
horses,  and  as  quick  as  possible.  John,  see  that  the 
horses  are  got  ready,  and  don't  let  us  be  kept  here  an 
hour  or  two.  Tell  him  if  we're  delayed  over  the  time, 
I'll  lodge  a  complaint  with  the  postmaster." 

John  touched  his  hat,  and  set  off  to  obey  his  master's 
orders  with  the  taciturn  obedience  of  an  English  servant. 
In  the  meantime  the  Englishman  got  out  of  the  car- 
riage, and  walked  up  and  down  before  the  inn,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  taking  no  notice  of  the  crowd  of 
idlers  who  were  gazing  at  him  and  his  equipage.  He  was 
tall,  stout,  and  well  made ;  dressed  with  neatness  and 
precision ;  wore  a  travelling  cap  of  the  color  of  ginger- 
bread ;  and  had  rather  an  unhappy  expression  about  the 
corners  of  his  mouth :  partly  from  not  having  yet  made 
his  dinner,  and  partly  from  not  having  been  able  to  get 
on  at  a  greater  rate  than  seven  miles  an  hour.  Not  that 
he  had  any  other  cause  for  haste  than  an  Englishman's 
usual  hurry  to  get  to  the  end  of  a  journey  ;  or,  to  use  the 
regular  phrase,  "  to  get  on."  Perhaps,  too,  he  was  a  lit- 
tle sore  from  having  been  fleeced  at  every  stage. 

After  some  time  the  servant  returned  from  the  stable 
with  a  look  of  some  perplexity. 
21 


322  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

*'*  Are  the  horses  ready,  John  ?  " 

"  No,  sir — I  never  saw  such  a  place.  There's  no  get- 
ting anything  done.  I  think  your  honor  had  better  step 
into  the  house  and  get  something  to  eat ;  it  will  be  a  long 
while  before  we  get  to  Fundy." 

"  D — n  the  house — it's  a  mere  trick — I'll  not  eat  any- 
thing, just  to  spite  them,"  said  the  Englishman,  still 
more  crusty  at  the  prospect  of  being  so  long  without  his 
dinner. 

"  They  say  your  honor's  very  wrong,"  said  John,  "  to 
set  off  at  this  late  hour.    The  road's  full  of  highwaymen." 

"  Mere  tales  to  get  custom." 

"  The  estafette  which  passed  us  was  stopped  by  a  whole 
gang,"  said  John,  increasing  his  emphasis  with  each  ad- 
ditional piece  of  information. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"  They  robbed  him  of  his  breeches,"  said  John,  giving 
at  the  same  time  a  hitch  to  his  own  waistband. 

"All  humbug!" 

Here  the  dark  handsome  young  man  stepped  forward, 
and  addressing  the  Englishman  very  politely,  in  broken 
English,  invited  him  to  partake  of  a  repast  he  was  about 
to  make. 

"  Thank'ee,"  said  the  Englishman,  thrusting  his  hands 
deeper  into  his  pockets,  and  casting  a  slight  side-glance 
of  suspicion  at  the  young  man,  as  if  he  thought,  from  his 
civility,  he  must  have  a  design  upon  his  purse. 

"  We  shall  be  most  happy,  if  you  will  do  us  the  favor,'* 


THE  TNN  AT  TEBBACINA.  323 

said  the  lady,  in  her  soft  Venetian  dialect.  There  was  a 
sweetness  in  her  accents  that  was  most  persuasive.  The 
Englishman  cast  a  look  upon  her  countenance ;  her  beauty 
was  still  more  eloquent.  His  features  instantly  relaxed. 
He  made  a  polite  bow.  "  With  great  pleasure,  Signora," 
said  he. 

In  short,  the  eagerness  to  "  get  on "  was  suddenly 
slackened  ;  the  determination  to  famish  himself  as  far  as 
Fondi,  by  way  of  punishing  the  landlord,  was  abandoned ; 
John  chose  an  apartment  in  the  inn  for  his  master's 
reception ;  and  preparations  were  made  to  remain  there 
until  morning. 

The  carriage  was  unpacked  of  such  of  its  contents  as 
were  indispensable  for  the  night.  There  was  the  usual 
parade  of  trunks  and  writing-desks,  and  portfolios  and 
dressing-boxes,  and  those  other  oppressive  conveniences 
which  burden  a  comfortable  man.  The  observant  loiter- 
ers about  the  inn-door,  wrapped  up  in  great  dirt-colored 
cloaks,  with  only  a  hawk's-eye  uncovered,  made  many 
remarks  to  each  other  on  this  quantity  of  luggage  that 
seemed  enough  for  an  army.  The  domestics  of  the  inn 
talked  with  wonder  of  the  splendid  dressing-case,  with  its 
gold  and  silver  furniture,  that  was  spread  out  on  the  toi- 
let table,  and  the  bag  of  gold  that  chinked  as  it  was  taken 
out  of  the  trunk.  The  strange  Milor's  wealth,  and  the 
treasures  he  carried  about  him,  were  the  talk,  that  even- 
ing, over  all  Terracina. 

The  Englishman  took  some  time  to  make  his  ablutions 


324  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

and  arrange  his  dress  for  table  ;  and,  after  considerable 
labor  and  ejBfort  in  putting  himself  at  his  ease,  made  his 
appearance,  with  stiff  white  cravat,  his  clothes  free  from 
the  least  speck  of  dust,  and  adjusted  with  precision.  He 
made  a  civil  bow  on  entering  in  the  unprofessing  Eng- 
lish way,  which  the  fair  Venetian,  accustomed  to  the  com- 
plimentary salutations  of  the  Continent,  considered  ex- 
tremely cold. 

The  supper,  as  it  was  termed  by  the  Italian,  or  dinner, 
as  the  Englishman  called  it,  was  now  served :  heaven  and 
earth,  and  the  waters  under  the  earth,  had  been  moved  to 
furnish  it ;  for  there  were  birds  of  the  air,  and  beasts  of 
the  field,  and  fish  of  the  sea.  The  Englishman's  servant, 
too,  had  turned  the  kitchen  topsy-turvy  in  his  zeal  to 
cook  his  master  a  beefsteak ;  and  made  his  appearance, 
loaded  with  ketchup,  and  soy,  and  Cayenne  pepper,  and 
Harvey  sauce,  and  a  bottle  of  port  wine,  from  that  ware- 
house, the  carriage,  in  which  his  master  seemed  desirous 
of  carrying  England  about  the  world  with  him.  Indeed 
the  repast  was  one  of  those  Italian  farragoes  which  re- 
quire a  little  qualifying.  The  tureen  of  soup  was  a  black 
sea,  with  livers,  and  limbs,  and  fragments  of  all  kinds  of 
birds,  and  beasts  floating  like  wrecks  about  it.  A  meagre- 
winged  animal,  which  my  host  called  a  delicate  chicken, 
had  evidently  died  of  a  consumption.  The  macaroni  was 
smoked.  The  beefsteak  was  tough  buffalo's  flesh.  There 
was  what  appeared  to  be  a  dish  of  stewed  eels,  of  which 
the  Englishman  ate  with  great  relish ;  but  had  nearly  re- 


THE  INN  AT  TERRACINA.  325 

funded  them  when  told  that  they  were  vipers, caught  among 
the  rocks  of  Terracina,  and  esteemed  a  p;Teat  delicacy. 

Nothing,  however,  conquers  a  traveller's  spleen  sooner 
than  eating,  whatever  may  be  the  cookery  ;  and  nothing 
brings  him  into  good-humor  with  his  company  sooner 
than  eating  together ;  the  Englishman,  therefore,  had  not 
half  finished  his  repast  and  his  bottle,  before  he  began  to 
think  the  Venetian  a  very  tolerable  fellow  for  a  foreigner, 
and  his  wife  almost  handsome  enough  to  be  an  English- 
woman. 

In  the  course  of  the  repast,  the  usual  topics  of  travel- 
lers were  discussed,  and  among  others,  the  reports  of 
robbers,  which  harassed  the  mind  of  the  fair  Venetian. 
The  landlord  and  waiter  dipped  into  the  conversation 
with  that  familiarity  permitted  on  the  Continent,  and 
served  up  so  many  bloody  tales  as  they  served  up 
the  dishes,  that  they  almost  frightened  away  the  poor 
lady's  appetite.  The  Englishman,  who  had  a  national 
antipathy  to  everything  technically  called  "  humbug," 
listened  to  them  all  with  a  certain  screw  of  the  mouth, 
expressive  of  incredulity.  There  was  the  well-known 
story  of  the  school  of  Terracina,  captured  by  the  robbers ; 
and  one  of  the  scholars  cruelly  massacred,  in  order  to 
bring  the  parents  to  terms  for  the  ransom  of  the  rest. 
And  another,  of  a  gentleman  of  Eome,  who  received 
his  son's  ear  in  a  letter,  with  information,  that  his  son 
would  be  remitted  to  him  in  this  way,  by  instalments, 
until  he  paid  the  required  ransom. 


326  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLER. 

The  fair  Venetian  sliuddered  as  slie  heard  these  tales ; 
and  the  landlord,  like  a  true  narrator  of  the  terrible, 
doubled  the  dose  when  he  saw  how  it  operated.  He  was 
just  proceeding  to  relate  the  misfortunes  of  a  great  Eng- 
lish lord  and  his  family,  when  the  Englishman,  tired  of 
his  volubility,  interrupted  him,  and  pronounced  these 
accounts  to  be  mere  travellers'  tales,  or  the  exaggerations 
of  ignorant  peasants,  and  designing  innkeepers.  The 
landlord  was  indignant  at  the  doubt  levelled  at  his 
stories,  and  the  innuendo  levelled  at  his  cloth  ;  he  cited, 
in  corroboration,  half  a  dozen  tales  still  more  terrible. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  them,"  said  the  Englishman. 

"  But  the  robbers  have  been  tried  and  executed  !  " 

"All  a  farce!" 

"  But  their  heads  are  stuck  up  along  the  road  !  " 

"  Old  skulls  accumulated  during  a  century." 

The  landlord  muttered  to  himself  as  he  went  out  at 
the  door,  "  San  Gennaro !  quanto  sono  singolari  questi 
Inglesi ! " 

A  fresh  hubbub  outside  of  the  inn  announced  the 
arrival  of  more  travellers ;  and,  from  the  variety  of 
voices,  or  rather  of  clamors,  the  clattering  of  hoofs,  the 
rattling  of  wheels,  and  the  general  uproar  both  within 
and  without,  the  arrival  seemed  to  be  numerous. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  procaccio  and  its  convoy  :  a  kind  of 
caravan  which  sets  out  on  certain  days  for  the  transpor- 
tation of  merchandise,  with  an  escort  of  soldiery  to  pro- 
tect it  from  the  robbers.     Travellers  avail  themselves  of 


THE  INN  AT  TERRACINA.  327 

its  protection,  and  a  long  file  of  carriages  generally 
accompany  it. 

A  considerable  time  elapsed  before  either  landlord  or 
waiter  returned ;  being  hurried  hither  and  thither  by 
that  tempest  of  noise  and  bustle,  which  takes  place  in  an 
Italian  inn  on  the  arrival  of  any  considerable  accession 
of  custom.  When  mine  host  reappeared,  there  was  a 
smile  of  triumph  on  his  countenance. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  as  he  cleared  the  table,  "  perhaps 
the  signor  has  not  heard  of  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  "What  ?  "  said  the  Englishman,  dryly. 

"Why,  the  procaccio  has  brought  accounts  of  fresh 
exploits  of  the  robbers." 

"Pish!" 

"  There's  more  news  of  the  English  Milor  and  his  fam- 
ily," said  the  host,  exultingly. 

"  An  English  lord  ?     What  English  lord  ?  " 

"Milor  Popkin." 

"  Lord  Popkins  ?     I  never  heard  of  such  a  title ! " 

"  O !  sicuro  a  great  nobleman,  who  passed  through 
here  lately  with  mi  ladi  and  her  daughters.  A  magnifico, 
one  of  the  grand  counsellors  of  London,  an  almanno  !  " 

"  Almanno — almanno  ? — tut — he  means  alderman." 

"  Sicuro — Aldermanno  Popkin,  and  the  Principessa 
Popkin,  and  the  Signorine  Popkin !  "  said  mine  host,  tri- 
umphantly. 

He  now  put  himself  into  an  attitude,  and  would  have 
launched  into  a  full  detail,  had  he  not  been  thwarted  by 


328  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

the  Englishman,  who  seemed  determined  neither  to  cre- 
dit nor  indulge  him  in  his  stories,  but  dryly  motioned 
for  him  to  clear  away  the  table. 

An  Italian  tongue,  however,  is  not  easily  checked ; 
that  of  mine  host  continued  to  wag  with  increasing  volu- 
bility, as  he  conveyed  the  relics  of  the  repast  out  of  the 
room  ;  and  the  last  that  could  be  distinguished  of  his 
voice,  as  it  died  away  along  the  corridor,  was  the  itera- 
tion of  the  favorite  word,  Popkin — Popkin — Popkin — pop 
— pop — pop. 

The  arrival  of  the  procaccio  had,  indeed,  filled  the 
house  with  stories,  as  it  had  with  guests.  The  English- 
man and  his  companions  walked  after  supper  up  and 
down  the  large  hall,  or  common  room  of  the  inn,  which 
ran  through  the  centre  of  the  building.  It  was  spacious 
and  somewhat  dirty,  with  tables  placed  in  various  parts, 
at  which  groups  of  travellers  were  seated ;  while  others 
strolled  about,  waiting,  in  famished  impatience,  for  their 
evening's  meal. 

It  was  a  heterogeneous  assemblage  of  people  of  all 
ranks  and  countries,  who  had  arrived  in  all  kinds  of 
vehicles.  Though  distinct  knots  of  travellers,  yet  the 
travelling  together,  under  one  common  escort,  had  jum- 
bled them  into  a  certain  degree  of  companionship  on  the 
road ;  besides,  on  the  Continent  travellers  are  always 
familiar,  and  nothing  is  more  motley  than  the  groups 
which  gather  casually  together  in  sociable  conversation 
in  the  public  rooms  of  inns. 


THE  INN  AT  TEBRACINA.  329 

The  formidable  number,  and  formidable  guard  of  the 
procaccio  had  prevented  any  molestation  from  banditti ; 
but  every  party  of  travellers  had  its  tale  of  wonder,  and 
one  carriage  vied  with  another  in  its  budget  of  assertions 
and  surmises.  Fierce,  whiskered  faces  had  been  seen 
peering  over  the  rocks ;  carbines  and  stilettos  gleaming 
from  among  the  bushes  ;  suspicious-looking  fellows,  with 
flapped  hats,  and  scowling  eyes,  had  occasionally  recon- 
noitred a  straggling  carriage,  but  had  disappeared  on 
seeing  the  guard. 

The  fair  Venetian  listened  to  all  these  stories  with  that 
avidity  with  which  we  always  pamper  any  feeling  of 
alarm  ;  even  the  Englishman  began  to  feel  interested  in 
the  common  topic,  desirous  of  getting  more  correct  infor- 
mation than  mere  flying  reports.  Conquering,  therefore, 
that  shyness  which  is  prone  to  keep  an  Englishman  soli- 
tary in  crowds,  he  approached  one  of  the  talking  groups, 
the  oracle  of  which  was  a  tall,  thin  Italian,  with  long 
aquiline  nose,  a  high  forehead,  and  lively  prominent  eye, 
beaming  from  under  a  green  velvet  travelling-cap,  with 
gold  tassel.  He  was  of  Kome,  a  surgeon  by  profession,  a 
poet  by  choice,  and  something  of  an  improvisatore. 

In  the  present  instance,  however,  he  was  talking  in 
plain  prose,  but  holding  forth  with  the  fluency  of  one 
who  talks  well,  and  likes  to  exert  his  talent.  A  question 
or  two  from  the  Englishman  drew  copious  replies ;  for 
an  Englishman  sociable  among  strangers  is  regarded  as 
a  phenomenon  on  the  Continent,  and  always  treated  with 


330  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

attention  for  tlie  rarity's  sake.  The  improvisatore  gave 
mucli  the  same  account  of  the  banditti  that  I  have 
already  furnished. 

"  But  why  does  not  the  police  exert  itself,  and  root 
them  out  ?  "  demanded  the  Englishman. 

"  Because  the  police  is  too  weak,  and  the  banditti  are 
too  strong,"  replied  the  other.  "To  root  them  out 
would  be  a  more  difficult  task  than  you  imagine.  They 
are  connected  and  almost  identified  with  the  mountain 
peasantry  and  the  people  of  the  villages.  The  numerous 
bands  have  an  understanding  with  each  other,  and  with 
the  country  round.  A  gendarme  cannot  stir  without 
their  being  aware  of  it.  They  have  their  scouts  every- 
where, who  lurk  about  towns,  villages,  and  inns,  mingle 
in  every  crowd,  and  pervade  every  place  of  resort.  1 
should  not  be  surprised  if  some  one  should  be  super- 
vising us  at  this  moment." 

The  fair  Venetian  looked  round  fearfully,  and  turned 
pale. 

Here  the  improvisatore  was  interrupted  by  a  lively 
Neapolitan  lawyer. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  he,  "  I  recollect  a  little  adventure 
of  a  learned  doctor,  a  friend  of  mine,  which  happened  in 
this  very  neighborhood ;  not  far  from  the  ruins  of  Theo- 
dric's  Castle,  which  are  on  the  top  of  those  great  rocky 
heights  above  the  town." 

A  wish  was,  of  course,  expressed  to  hear  the  adventure 
of  the  doctor,  by  all  excepting  the  improvisatore,  who, 


TEE  INN  AT  TERRACINA.  331 

being  fond  of  talking  and  of  hearing  himself  talk,  and 
accustomed,  moreover,  to  harangue  without  interruption, 
looked  rather  annoyed  at  being  checked  when  in  full 
career.  The  Neapolitan,  however,  took  no  notice  of  his 
chagrin,  but  related  the  following  anecdote. 


ADVENTURE  OF  THE  LITTLE  AN- 
TIQUARY. 

Y  friend,  tlie  Doctor,  was  a  thorough  antiquary; 
a  little  rusty,  musty,  old  fellow,  always  grop- 
II  ing  among  ruins.  He  relished  a  building  as 
you  Englishmen  relish  a  cheese, — the  more  mouldy  and 
crumbling  it  was,  the  more  it  suited  his  taste.  A  shell  of 
an  old  nameless  temple,  or  the  cracked  walls  of  a  broken- 
down  amphitheatre,  would  throw  him  into  raptures; 
and  he  took  more  delight  in  these  crusts  and  cheese- 
parings of  antiquity  than  in  the  best-conditioned  modern 
palaces. 

He  was  a  curious  collector  of  coins  also,  and  had  just 
gained  an  accession  of  wealth  that  almost  turned  his 
brain.  He  had  picked  up,  for  instance,  several  Boman 
Consulars,  half  a  Eoman  As,  two  Funics,  which  had  doubt- 
less belonged  to  the  soldiers  of  Hannibal,  having  been 
found  on  the  very  spot  where  they  had  encamped  among 
the  Apennines,  He  had,  moreover,  one  Samnite,  struck 
after  the  Social  War,  and  a  Philistis,  a  queen  that  never 
existed;  but  above  all,  he  valued  himself  upon  a  coin, 
indescribable  to  any  but  the  initiated  in  these  matters, 

333 


TEE  LITTLE  ANTIQUARY,  333 

bearing  a  cross  on  one  side,  and  a  pegasus  on  the  other, 
and  which,  by  some  antiquarian  logic,  the  little  man 
adduced  as  an  historical  document,  illustrating  the  prog- 
ress of  Christianity. 

All  these  precious  coins  he  carried  about  him  in  a 
leathern  purse,  buried  deep  in  a  pocket  of  his  little  black 
breeches. 

The  last  maggot  he  had  taken  into  his  brain  was  to 
hunt  after  the  ancient  cities  of  the  Pelasgi,  which  are 
said  to  exist  to  this  day  among  the  mountains  of  the 
Abruzzi ;  but  about  which  a  singular  degree  of  obscurity 
prevails.^     He  had  made   many  discoveries   concerning 


*  Among  the  many  fond  speculations  of  antiquaries  is  that  of  the  exist- 
ence of  traces  of  the  ancient  Pelasgian  cities  in  the  Apennines;  and 
many  a  wistful  eye  is  cast  by  the  traveller,  versed  in  antiquarian  lore,  at 
the  richly  wooded  mountains  of  the  Abruzzi,  as  a  forbidden  fairy  land  of 
research.  These  spots,  so  beautiful,  yet  so  inaccessible,  from  the  rude- 
ness of  their  inhabitants  and  the  hordes  of  banditti  which  infest  them,  are 
a  region  of  fable  to  the  learned.  Sometimes  a  wealthy  virtuoso,  whose 
purse  and  whose  consequence  could  command  a  military  escort,  has  pene- 
trated to  some  individual  point  among  the  mountains ;  and  sometimes  a 
wandering  artist  or  student,  under  protection  of  poverty  or  insignificance, 
has  brought  away  some  vague  account,  only  calculated  to  give  a  keener 
edge  to  curiosity  and  conjecture. 

By  those  who  maintain  the  existence  of  the  Pelasgian  cities,  it  is 
aflB.rmed  that  the  formation  of  the  different  kingdoms  in  the  Peloponnesus 
gradually  caused  the  expulsion  thence  of  the  Pelasgi;  but  that  their  great 
migration  may  be  dated  from  the  finishing  the  wall  around  Acropolis,  and 
that  at  this  period  they  came  to  Italy.  To  these,  in  the  spirit  of  theory, 
they  would  ascribe  the  introduction  of  the  elegant  arts  into  the  country. 
It  is  evident,  however,  that,  as  barbarians  flying  before  the  first  dawn  of 
civilization,  they  could  bring  little  with  them  superior  to  the  inventions 
of  the  aborigines,  and  nothing  that  would  have  survived  to  the  anti- 


834  TALES  OF  A  TEA  YELLEB. 

them,  and  had  recorded  a  great  many  valuable  notes  and 
memorandums  on  the  subject,  in  a  voluminous  book, 
which  he  always  carried  about  with  him ;  either  for  the 
purpose  of  frequent  reference,  or  through  fear  lest  the 
precious  document  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  brother 
antiquaries.  He  had,  therefore,  a  large  pocket  in  the 
skirt  of  his  coat,  where  he  bore  about  this  inestimable 
tome,  banging  against  his  rear  as  he  walked. 

Thus  heavily  laden  with  the  spoils  of  antiquity,  the 
good  little  man,  during  a  sojourn  at  Terracina,  mounted 
one  day  the  rocky  cliffs  which  overhang  the  town,  to  visit 
the  castle  of  Theodric.  He  was  groping  about  the  ruins 
towards  the  hour  of  sunset,  buried  in  his  reflections,  his 
wits  no  doubt  wool-gathering  among  the  Goths  and  Ro- 
mans, when  he  heard  footsteps  behind  him. 

He  turned,  and  beheld  five  or  six  young  fellows,  of 
rough,  saucy  demeanor,  clad  in  a  singular  manner,  half 
peasant,  half  huntsman,  with   carbines  in  their  hands. 

quarian  through  such  a  lapse  of  ages.  It  would  appear  more  probable, 
that  these  cities,  improperly  termed  Pelasgian,  were  coeval  with  many 
that  have  been  discovered.  The  romantic  Aricia,  built  by  Hippolytus 
before  the  siege  of  Troy,  and  the  poetic  Tibur,  .-Slsculate  and  Proenes, 
built  by  Telegonus  after  the  dispersion  of  the  Greeks ; — these,  lying  con- 
tiguous to  inhabited  and  cultivated  spots,  have  been  discovered.  There 
are  others,  too,  on  the  ruins  of  which  the  latter  and  more  civilized 
G-recian  colonists  have  ingrafted  themselves,  and  which  have  become 
known  by  their  merits  or  their  medals.  But  that  there  are  many  still  un- 
discovered, imbedded  in  the  Abruzzi,  it  is  the  delight  of  the  antiquarians 
to  fancy.  Strange  that  such  a  virgin  soil  for  research,  such  an  unknown 
realm  of  knowledge,  should  at  this  day  remain  in  the  very  centre  of  hack- 
neyed Italy  I 


THE  LITTLE  ANTIQUARY.  335 

Their  whole  appearance  and  carriage  left  him  no  douht 
into  what  company  he  had  fallen. 

The  Doctor  was  a  feeble  little  man,  poor  in  look,  and 
poor  in  purse.  He  had  but  little  gold  or  silver  to  be 
robbed  of ;  but  then  he  had  his  curious  ancient  coin  in 
his  breeches-pocket.  He  had,  moreover,  certain  other 
valuables,  such  as  an  old  silver  watch,  thick  as  a  turnip, 
with  figures  on  it  large  enough  for  a  clock ;  and  a  set  of 
seals  at  the  end  of  a  steel  chain,  dangling  half-way  down 
to  his  knees.  All  these  were  of  precious  esteem,  being 
family  relics.  He  had  also  a  seal  ring,  a  veritable  an- 
tique intaglio,  that  covered  half  his  knuckles.  It  was  a 
Venus,  which  the  old  man  almost  worshipped  with  the 
zeal  of  a  voluptuary.  But  what  he  most  valued  was  his 
inestimable  collection  of  hints  relative  to  the  Pelasgian 
cities,  which  he  would  gladly  have  given  all  the  money 
in  his  pocket  to  have  had  safe  at  the  bottom  of  his  trunk 
in  Terracina. 

However,  he  plucked  up  a  stout  heart,  at  least  as  stout 
a  heart  as  he  could,  seeing  that  he  was  but  a  puny  little 
man  at  the  best  of  times.  So  he  wished  the  hunters  a 
"  buon  giorno."  They  returned  his  salutation,  giving  the 
old  gentleman  a  sociable  slap  on  the  back  that  made  his 
heart  leap  into  his  throat. 

They  fell  into  conversation,  and  walked  for  some  time 
together  among  the  heights,  the  Doctor  wishing  them  all 
the  while  at  the  bottom  of  the  crater  of  Vesuvius.  At 
length   they  came  to  a  small   osteria  on  the   mountain, 


336  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

where  they  proposed  to  enter  and  have  a  cup  of  wine 
together ;  the  Doctor  consented,  though  he  would  as 
soon  have  been  invited  to  drink  hemlock. 

One  of  the  gang  remained  sentinel  at  the  door ;  the 
others  swaggered  into  the  house,  stood  their  guns  in  the 
corner  of  the  room,  and  each  drawing  a  pistol  or  stiletto 
out  of  his  belt,  laid  it  upon  the  table.  They  now  drew 
benches  round  the  board,  called  lustily  for  wine,  and, 
hailing  the  Doctor  as  though  he  had  been  a  boon  com- 
panion of  long  standing,  insisted  upon  his  sitting  down 
and  making  merry. 

The  worthy  man  complied  with  forced  grimace,  but 
with  fear  and  trembling ;  sitting  uneasily  on  the  edge  of 
his  chair :  eying  ruefully  the  black-muzzled  pistols,  and 
cold,  naked  stilettos ;  and  supping  down  heartburn  with 
every  drop  of  liquor.  His  new  comrades,  however, 
pushed  the  bottle  bravely,  and  plied  him  vigorously. 
They  sang,  they  laughed ;  told  excellent  stories  of  their 
robberies  and  combats,  mingled  with  many  ruffian  jokes ; 
and  the  little  Doctor  was  fain  to  laugh  at  all  their  cut- 
throat pleasantries,  though  his  heart  was  dying  away  at 
the  very  bottom  of  his  bosom. 

By  their  own  account,  they  were  young  men  from  the 
villages,  who  had  recently  taken  up  this  line  of  life  out  of 
the  wild  caprice  of  youth.  They  talked  of  their  murder- 
ous exploits  as  a  sportsman  talks  of  his  amusements :  to 
shoot  down  a  traveller  seemed  of  little  more  consequence 
to  them  than  to  shoot  a  hare.     They  spoke  with  rapture 


THE   IITTLE   ANTIQUARY    AND    HIS   HOSTS.        (p.  336), 


THE  LITTLE  ANTIQUAHY.  3B7 

of  the  glorious  roving  life  they  led,  free  as  birds  ;  here 
to-day,  gone  to-morrow ;  ranging  the  forests,  climbing  the 
rocks,  scouring  the  valleys  ;  the  world  their  own  wherever 
they  could  lay  hold  of  it ;  full  purses — merry  companions 
— pretty  women.  The  little  antiquary  got  fuddled  with 
their  talk  and  their  wine,  for  they  did  not  spare  bumpers. 
He  half  forgot  his  fears,  his  seal  ring,  and  his  family 
watch ;  even  the  treatise  on  the  Pelasgian  cities,  which 
was  warming  under  him,  for  a  time  faded  from  his  mem- 
ory in  the  glowing  picture  that  they  drew.  He  declares 
that  he  no  longer  wonders  at  the  prevalence  of  this  rob- 
ber mania  among  the  mountains ;  for  he  felt  at  the  time, 
that,  had  he  been  a  young  man,  and  a  strong  man,  and 
had  there  been  no  danger  of  the  galleys  in  the  back- 
ground, he  should  have  been  half  tempted  himself  to  turn 
bandit. 

At  length  the  hour  of  separating  arrived.  The  Doctor 
was  suddenly  called  to  himself  and  his  fears  by  seeing  the 
robbers  resume  their  weapons.  He  now  quaked  for  his 
valuables,  and,  above  all,  for  his  antiquarian  treatise.  He 
endeavored,  however,  to  look  cool  and  unconcerned ;  and 
drew  from  out  his  deep  pocket  a  long,  lank,  leathern 
purse,  far  gone  in  consumption,  at  the  bottom  of  which  a 
few  coin  chinked  with  the  trembling  of  his  hand. 

The  chief  of  the  party  observed  his  movement,  and  lay- 
ing his  hand  upon  the  antiquary's  shoulder,  "Harkee! 
Signor  Dottore ! "  said  he,  "  we  have  drunk  together  as 
friends  and  comrades;  let  us  part  as  such.    We  under- 


338  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLER. 

stand  you.  We  know  who  and  what  you  are,  for  we  know 
who  everybody  is  that  sleeps  at  Terracina,  or  that  puts 
foot  upon  the  road.  You  are  a  rich  man,  but  you  carry 
all  your  v/ealth  in  your  head  :  we  cannot  get  at  it,  and  we 
should  not  know  what  to  do  with  it  if  we  could.  I  see 
you  are  uneasy  about  your  ring ;  but  don't  worry  your- 
self, it  is  not  worth  taking ;  you  think  it  an  antique,  but 
it's  a  counterfeit — a  mere  sham." 

Here  the  ire  of  the  antiquary  rose :  the  Doctor  forgot 
himself  in  his  zeal  for  the  character  of  his  ring.  Heaven 
and  earth  !  His  Venus  a  sham.  Had  they  pronounced 
the  wife  of  his  bosom  "  no  better  than  she  should  be," 
he  could  not  have  been  more  indignant.  He  fired  up  in 
vindication  of  his  intaglio. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  continued  the  robber,  "  we  have  no  time 
to  dispute  about  it;  value  it  as  you  please.  Come, 
you're  a  brave  little  old  signor — one  more  cup  of  wine, 
and  we'll  pay  the  reckoning.  No  compliments — you 
shall  not  pay  a  grain — you  are  our  guest — I  insist  upon 
it.  So — now  make  the  best  of  your  way  back  to  Terra- 
cina ;  it's  growing  late.  Buono  viaggio  !  And  harkee  ! 
take  care  how  you  wander  among  these  mountains,— you 
may  not  always  fall  into  such  good  company." 

They  shouldered  their  guns ;  sprang  gayly  up  the 
rocks ;  and  the  little  Doctor  hobbled  back  to  Terracina, 
rejoicing  that  the  robbers  had  left  his  watch,  his  coins, 
and  his  treatise,  unmolested ;  but  still  indignant  that 
they  should  have  pronounced  his  Venus  an  impostor. 


THE  LITTLE  ANTIQUARY.  339 

The  improvisatore  had  shown  many  symptoms  of  im- 
patience during  this  recital.  He  saw  his  theme  in 
danger  of  being  taken  out  of  his  hands,  which  to  an  able 
talker  is  always  a  grievance,  but  to  an  improvisatore  is 
an  absolute  calamity  :  and  then  for  it  to  be  taken  away 
by  a  Neapolitan  was  still  more  vexatious;  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  different  Italian  states  having  an  implacable 
jealousy  of  each  other  in  all  things,  great  and  small.  He 
took  advantage  of  the  first  pause  of  the  Neapolitan  to 
catch  hold  again  of  the  thread  of  the  conversation. 

''  As  I  observed  before,"  said  he,  "  the  prowlings  of 
the  banditti  are  so  extensive ;  they  are  so  much  in  league 
with  one  another,  and  so  interwoven  with  various  ranks 
of  society  " 

"  For  that  matter,"  said  the  Neapolitan,  "  I  have 
heard  that  your  government  has  had  some  understand- 
ing with  those  gentry ;  or,  at  least,  has  winked  at  their 
misdeeds." 

"  My  government  ?  "  said  the  Roman,  impatiently. 

*'  Ay,  they  say  that  Cardinal  Gonsalvi  " — 

"  Hush  ! "  said  the  Roman,  holding  up  his  finger,  and 
rolling  his  large  eyes  about  the  room. 

"  Nay,  I  only  repeat  what  I  heard  commonly  rumored 
in  Rome,"  replied  the  Neapolitan,  sturdily.  "  It  was 
openly  said,  that  the  Cardinal  had  been  up  to  the  moun- 
tains, and  had  an  interview  with  some  of  the  chiefs. 
And  I  have  been  told,  moreover,  that,  while  honest 
people  have  been  kicking  their  heels  in  the  Cardinal's 


340  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLER. 

ante-chamber,  waiting  by  the  hour  for  admittance,  one 
of  those  stiletto-looking  fellows  has  elbowed  his  way 
through  the  crowd,  and  entered  without  ceremony  into 
the  Cardinal's  presence." 

"  I  know,"  observed  the  improvisatore,  "  that  there 
have  been  such  reports,  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  gov- 
ernment may  have  made  use  of  these  men  at  particular 
periods  :  such  as  at  the  time  of  your  late  abortive  revo- 
lution, when  your  carbonari  were  so  busy  with  their 
machinations  all  over  the  country.  The  information 
which  such  men  could  collect,  who  were  familiar,  not 
merely  with  the  recesses  and  secret  places  of  the  moun- 
tains, but  also  with  the  dark  and  dangerous  recesses  of 
society ;  who  knew  every  suspicious  character,  and  all 
his  movements  and  all  his  lurkings ;  in  a  word,  who 
knew  all  that  was  plotting  in  a  world  of  mischief ; — the 
utility  of  such  men  as  instruments  in  the  hands  of  gov- 
ernment was  too  obvious  to  be  overlooked  ;  and  Cardinal 
Gonsalvi,  as  a  politic  statesman,  may,  perhaps,  have 
made  use  of  them.  Besides,  he  knew  that,  with  all  their 
atrocities,  the  robbers  were  always  respectful  towards 
the  Church,  and  devout  in  their  religion." 

"  Religion !  religion  !  "  echoed  the  Englishman. 

"Yes,  religion,"  repeated  the  Roman.  "They  have 
each  their  patron  saint.  They  will  cross  themselves  and 
say  their  prayers,  whenever,  in  their  mountain  haunts, 
they  hear  the  matin  or  the  Ave-Maria  bells  sounding 
from  the  valleys ;    and  will  often  descend  from  their 


THE  LITTLE  ANTIQUARY.  341 

retreats,  and  run  imminent  risks  to  visit  some  favorite 
shrine.     I  recollect  an  instance  in  point. 

"  I  was  one  evening  in  the  village  of  Frascati,  which 
stands  on  the  beautiful  brow  of  a  hill  rising  from  the 
Campagna,  just  below  the  Abruzzi  Mountains.  The  peo- 
ple, as  is  usual  in  fine  evenings  in  our  Italian  towns  and 
villages,  were  recreating  themselves  in  the  open  air,  and 
chatting  in  groups  in  the  public  square.  While  I  was 
conversing  with  a  knot  of  friends,  I  noticed  a  tall  fellow, 
wrapped  in  a  great  mantle,  passing  across  the  square, 
but  skulking  along  in  the  dusk,  as  if  anxious  to  avoid 
observation.  The  people  drew  back  as  he  passed.  It 
was  whispered  to  me  that  he  was  a  notorious  bandit." 

"  But  why  was  he  not  immediately  seized  ?  "  said  the 
Englishman. 

"  Because  it  was  nobody's  business ;  because  nobody 
wished  to  incur  the  vengeance  of  his  comrades  ;  because 
there  were  not  sufficient  gendarmes  near  to  insure  secu- 
rity against  the  number  of  desperadoes  he  might  have  at 
hand;  because  the  gendarmes  might  not  have  received 
particular  instructions  with  respect  to  him,  and  might 
not  feel  disposed  to  engage  in  a  hazardous  conflict  with- 
out compulsion.  In  short,  I  might  give  you  a  thousand 
reasons  rising  out  of  the  state  of  our  government  and 
manners,  not  one  of  which  after  all  might  appear  satis- 
factory." 

The  Englishman  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  air  of 
contempt. 


342  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

"I  have  been  told,"  added  the  Boman,  rather  quickly, 
"  that  even  in  your  metropolis  of  London,  notorious 
thieves,  well  known  to  the  police  as  such,  walk  the 
streets  at  noonday  in  search  of  their  prey,  and  are 
not  molested  unless  caught  in  the  very  act  of  robbery." 

The  Englishman  gave  another  shrug  but  with  a  differ- 
ent expression. 

"  "Well,  sir,  I  fixed  my  eye  on  this  daring  wolf,  thus 
prowling  through  the  fold,  and  saw  him  enter  a  church. 
I  was  curious  to  witness  his  devotion.  You  know  our 
spacious  magnificent  churches.  The  one  in  which  he 
entered  was  vast,  and  shrouded  in  the  dusk  of  evening. 
At  the  extremity  of  the  long  aisles  a  couple  of  tapers 
feebly  glimmered  on  the  grand  altar.  In  one  of  the  side 
chapels  was  a  votive  candle  placed  before  the  image  of 
a  saint.  Before  this  image  the  robber  had  prostrated 
himself.  His  mantle  partly  falling  off  from  his  shoulders 
as  he  knelt,  revealed  a  form  of  Herculean  strength ;  a 
stiletto  and  pistol  glittered  in  his  belt ;  and  the  light 
falling  on  his  countenance,  showed  features  not  unhand- 
some, but  strongly  and  fiercely  characterized.  As  he 
prayed,  he  became  vehemently  agitated;  his  lips  quiv- 
ered ;  sighs  and  murmurs,  almost  groans,  burst  from 
him ;  he  beat  his  breast  with  violence ;  then  clasped  his 
hands  and  wrung  them  convulsively,  as  he  extended 
them  towards  the  image.  Never  had  I  seen  such  a  ter- 
rific picture  of  remorse.  I  felt  fearful  of  being  discovered 
watching  him,  and  withdrew.     Shortly  afterwards  I  sa^ 


THE  LITTLE  AJNTiqU ART.  343 

him  issue  from  the  churcli  wrapped  in  his  mantle.  He 
recrossed  the  square,  and  no  doubt  returned  to  the 
mountains  with  a  disburdened  conscience,  ready  to  incur 
a  fresh  arrear  of  crime." 

Here  the  Neapolitan  was  about  to  get  hold  of  the 
conversation,  and  had  just  preluded  with  the  ominous 
remark,  "  That  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  circumstance," 
when  the  improvisatore,  too  adroit  to  suffer  himself  to 
be  again  superseded,  went  on,  pretending  not  to  hear  the 
interruption. 

"Among  the  many  circumstances  connected  with  the 
banditti,  which  serve  to  render  the  traveller  uneasy  and 
insecure,  is  the  understanding  which  they  sometimes 
have  with  inn-keepers.  Many  an  isolated  inn  among 
the  lonely  parts  of  the  Koman  territories,  and  especially 
about  the  mountains,  are  of  a  dangerous  and  perfidious 
character.  They  are  places  where  the  banditti  gather 
information,  and  where  the  unwary  traveller,  remote  from 
hearing  or  assistance,  is  betrayed  to  the  midnight  dagger. 
The  robberies  committed  at  such  inns  are  often  accom- 
panied by  the  most  atrocious  murders ;  for  it  is  only  by 
the  complete  extermination  of  their  victims  that  the 
assassins  can  escape  detection.  I  recollect  an  adven- 
ture," added  he,  "  which  occurred  at  one  of  these  solitary 
mountain  inns,  which,  as  you  all  seem  in  a  mood  for  rob- 
ber anecdotes,  may  not  be  uninteresting." 

Having  secured  the  attention  and  awakened  the  curi- 
osity of  the  by-standers,  he  paused  for  a  moment,  rolled 


344  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

up  his  large  eyes  as  improvisatori  are  apt  to  do  when 
they  would  recollect  an  impromptu,  and  then  related 
with  great  dramatic  effect  the  following  story,  which 
had,  doubtless,  been  well  prepared  and  digested  before** 
hand. 


THE    BELATED    TEAVELLEKS. 

T  was  late  one  evening  that  a  carriage,  drawn  by 
mules,  slowly  toiled  its  way  up  one  of  the 
passes  of  the  Apennines.  It  was  through  one 
of  the  wildest  defiles,  where  a  hamlet  occurred  only  at 
distant  intervals,  perched  on  the  summit  of  some  rocky 
height,  or  the  white  towers  of  a  convent  peeped  out  from 
among  the  thick  mountain  foliage.  The  carriage  was  of 
ancient  and  ponderous  construction.  Its  faded  embel- 
lishments spoke  of  former  splendor,  but  its  crazy  springs 
and  axle-trees  creaked  out  the  tale  of  present  decline. 
Within  was  seated  a  tall,  thin  old  gentleman,  in  a  kind  of 
military  travelling-dress,  and  a  foraging-cap  trimmed 
with  fur,  though  the  gray  locks  which  stole  from  under  it 
hinted  that  his  fighting  days  were  over.  Beside  him  was 
a  pale,  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen,  dressed  in  something  of 
a  northern  or  Polish  costume.  One  servant  was  seated 
in  front,  a  rusty,  crusty  looking  fellow,  with  a  scar  across 
his  face,  an  orange-tawny  schnurhart  or  pair  of  mous- 
taches, bristling  from  under  his  nose,  and  altogether  the 
air  of  an  old  soldier. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  equipage  of  a  Polish  nobleman ;  a 

345 


346  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

wreck  of  one  of  those  princely  families  once  of  almost 
oriental  magnificence,  but  broken  down  and  impover- 
islied  by  the  disasters  of  Poland.  The  Count,  like  many 
other  generous  spirits,  had  been  found  guilty  of  the  crime 
of  patriotism,  and  was,  in  a  manner,  an  exile  from  his 
country.  He  had  resided  for  some  time  in  the  first  cities 
of  Italy,  for  the  education  of  his  daughter,  in  whom  all 
his  cares  and  pleasures  were  now  centred.  He  had 
taken  her  into  society,  where  her  beauty  and  her  accom- 
plishments gained  her  many  admirers  ;  and  had  she  not 
been  the  daughter  of  a  poor  broken-down  Polish  noble- 
man, it  is  more  than  probable  many  would  have  con- 
tended for  her  hand.  Suddenly,  however,  her  health  be- 
came delicate  and  drooping  ;  her  gayety  fled  with  the 
roses  of  her  cheek,  and  she  sank  into  silence  and  debil- 
ity. The  old  Count  saw  the  change  with  the  solicitude 
of  a  parent.  "  We  must  try  a  change  of  air  and  scene," 
said  he  ;  and  in  a  few  days  the  old  family  carriage  was 
rumbling  among  the  Apennines. 

Their  only  attendant  was  the  veteran  Caspar,  who  had 
been  born  in  the  family,  and  grown  rusty  in  its  service. 
He  had  followed  his  master  in  all  his  fortunes;  had 
fought  by  his  side  ;  had  stood  over  him  when  fallen  in 
battle ;  and  had  received,  in  his  defence,  the  sabre-cut 
which  added  such  grimness  to  his  countenance.  He  was 
now  his  valet,  his  steward,  his  butler,  his  factotum.  The 
only  being  that  rivalled  his  master  in  his  affections  was 
his  youthful  mistress.     She  had  grown  up  under  his  eye, 


THE  BELATED   TRAVELLERS.  347 

he  had  led  her  by  the  hand  when  she  was  a  childj  and  he 
now  looked  upon  her  with  the  fondness  of  a  parent. 
Nay,  he  even  took  the  freedom  of  a  parent  in  giving  his 
blunt  opinion  on  all  matters  which  he  thought  were  for 
her  good ;  and  felt  a  parent's  vanity  at  seeing  her  gazed 
at  and  admired. 

The  evening  was  thickening ;  they  had  been  for  some 
time  passing  through  narrow  gorges  of  the  mountains, 
along  the  edges  of  a  tumbling  stream.  The  scenery  was 
lonely  and  savage.  The  rocks  often  beetled  over  the 
road,  with  flocks  of  white  goats  browsing  on  their  brinks, 
and  gazing  down  upon  the  travellers.  They  had  between 
two  or  three  leagues  yet  to  go  before  they  could  reach 
any  village ;  yet  the  muleteer,  Pietro,  a  tippling  old  fel- 
low, who  had  refreshed  himself  at  the  last  halting-place 
with  a  more  than  ordinary  quantity  of  wine,  sat  singing 
and  talking  alternately  to  his  mules,  and  suffering  them 
to  lag  on  at  a  snail's  pace,  in  spite  of  the  frequent  en- 
treaties of  the  Count  and  maledictions  of  Caspar. 

The  clouds  began  to  roll  in  heavy  masses  along  the 
mountains,  shrouding  their  summits  from  view.  The  air 
was  damp  and  chilly.  The  Count's  solicitude  on  his 
daughter's  account  overcame  his  usual  patience.  He 
leaned  from  the  carriage,  and  called  to  old  Pietro  in  an 
angry  tone. 

"  Forward  !  "  said  he.  "It  will  be  midnight  before  we 
arrive  at  our  inn." 

*'  Yonder  it  is,  Signor,"  said  the  muleteer. 


348  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB, 

"  Where  ?  "  demanded  the  Count. 

"Yonder,"  said  Pietro,  pointing  to  a  desolate  pil« 
about  a  quarter  of  a  league  distant. 

*'  That  the  place  ? — why,  it  looks  more  like  a  ruin  than 
an  inn.  I  thought  we  were  to  put  up  for  the  night  at  a 
comfortable  village." 

Here  Pietro  uttered  a  string  of  piteous  exclamations 
and  ejaculations,  such  as  are  ever  at  the  tip  of  the  tongue 
of  a  delinquent  muleteer.  "  Such  roads !  and  such  moun- 
tains !  and  then  his  poor  animals  were  way-worn,  and 
leg- weary ;  they  would  fall  lame ;  they  would  never  be 
able  to  reach  the  village.  And  then  what  could  his 
Excellenza  wish  for  better  than  the  inn ;  a  perfect  cas- 
tella—  a  palazza — and  such  people ! — and  such  a  larder ! — 
and  fiuch  beds ! — His  Excellenza  might  fare  as  sumptu- 
ously, and  sleep  as  soundly  there  as  a  prince ! " 

The  Count  was  easily  persuaded,  for  he  was  anxious 
to  get  his  daughter  out  of  the  night  air ;  so  in  a  little 
while  the  old  carriage  rattled  and  jingled  into  the  great 
gateway  of  the  inn. 

The  building  did  certainly  in  some  measure  answer 
to  the  muleteer's  description.  It  was  large  enough  for 
either  castle  or  palace ;  built  in  a  strong,  but  simple  and 
almost  rude  style ;  with  a  great  quantity  of  waste  room. 
It  had  in  fact  been,  in  former  times,  a  hunting-seat  of 
one  of  the  Italian  princes.  There  was  space  enough 
within  its  walls  and  outbuildings  to  have  accommodated 
a  little  army.     A  scanty  household  seemed  now  to  peo- 


THE  BELATED   TRAVELLERS.  349 

pie  tliis  dreary  mansion.  The  faces  that  presented  them- 
selves on  the  arrival  of  the  travellers  were  begrimed  with 
dirt,  and  scowling  in  their  expression.  They  all  knew 
old  Pietro,  however,  and  gave  him  a  welcome  as  he 
entered,  singing  and  talking,  and  almost  whooping,  into 
the  gateway. 

The  hostess  of  the  inn  waited,  herself,  on  the  Count 
and  his  daughter,  to  show  them  the  apartments.  They 
were  conducted  through  a  long  gloomy  corridor,  and  then 
through  a  suite  of  chambers  opening  into  each  other,  with 
lofty  ceilings,  and  great  beams  extending  across  them. 
Everything,  however,  had  a  wretched,  squalid  look.  The 
walls  were  damp  and  bare,  excepting  that  here  and  there 
hung  some  great  painting,  large  enough  for  a  chapel,  and 
blackened  out  of  all  distinction. 

They  chose  two  bedrooms,  one  within  another  ;  the  in- 
ner one  for  the  daughter.  The  bedsteads  were  massive 
and  misshapen ;  but  on  examining  the  beds  so  vaunted  by 
old  Pietro,  they  found  them  stujBfed  with  fibres  of  hemp 
knotted  in  great  lumps.  The  Count  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders, but  there  was  no  choice  left. 

The  chilliness  of  the  apartments  crept  to  their  bones ; 
and  they  were  glad  to  return  to  a  common  chamber  or 
kind  of  hall,  where  was  a  fire  burning  in  a  huge  cavern, 
miscalled  a  chimney.  A  quantity  of  green  wood,  just 
thrown  on,  puffed  out  volumes  of  smoke.  The  room  cor- 
responded to  the  rest  of  the  mansion.  The  floor  was 
paved  and  dirty.    A  great  oaken  table  stood  in  the  centre^ 


350  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLER. 

immovable  from  its  size  and  weight.  The  only  thing  that 
contradicted  this  prevalent  air  of  indigence  was  the  dress 
of  the  hostess.  She  was  a  slattern  of  course ;  yet  her 
garments,  though  dirty  and  negligent,  were  of  costly  ma- 
terials. She  wore  several  rings  of  great  value  on  her 
fingers,  and  jewels  in  her  ears,  and  round  her  neck  was  a 
string  of  large  pearls,  to  which  was  attached  a  sparkling 
crucifix.  She  had  the  remains  of  beauty,  yet  there  was 
something  in  the  expression  of  her  countenance  that  in- 
spired the  young  lady  with  singular  aversion.  She  was 
officious  and  obsequious  in  her  attentions,  and  both  the 
Count  and  his  daughter  felt  relieved,  when  she  consigned 
them  to  the  care  of  a  dark,  sullen-looking  servant-maid, 
and  went  off  to  superintend  the  supper. 

Caspar  was  indignant  at  the  muleteer  for  having,  either 
through  negligence  or  design,  subjected  his  master  and 
mistress  to  such  quarters ;  and  vowed  by  his  moustaches 
to  have  revenge  on  the  old  varlet  the  moment  they  were 
safe  out  from  among  the  mountains.  He  kept  up  a  con- 
tinual quarrel  with  the  sulky  servant-maid,  which  only 
served  to  increase  the  sinister  expression  with  which  she 
regarded  the  travellers,  from  under  her  strong  dark  eye- 
brows. 

As  to  the  Count,  he  was  a  good-humored  passive  travel- 
ler. Perhaps  real  misfortunes  had  subdued  his  spirit, 
and  rendered  him  tolerant  of  many  of  those  petty  evils 
which  make  prosperous  men  miserable.  He  drew  a  large 
broken  arm-chair  to  the  fireside  for   his   daughter,  and 


THE  BELATED   TRAVELLERS.  351 

anotlier  for  himself,  and  seizing  an  enormous  pair  of 
tongs,  endeavored  to  rearrange  the  wood  so  as  to  produce 
a  blaze.  His  efforts,  however,  were  only  repaid  by  thicker 
puffs  of  smoke,  which  almost  overcame  the  good  gentle- 
man's patience.  He  would  draw  back,  cast  a  look  upon 
his  delicate  daughter,  then  upon  the  cheerless,  squalid 
apartment,  and,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  would  give  a 
fresh  stir  to  the  fire. 

Of  all  the  miseries  of  a  comfortless  inn,  however,  there 
is  none  greater  than  sulky  attendance ;  the  good  Count 
for  some  time  bore  the  smoke  in  silence,  rather  than 
address  himself  to  the  scowling  servant-maid.  At  length 
he  was  compelled  to  beg  for  drier  firewood.  The  woman 
retired  muttering.  On  reentering  the  room  hastily,  with 
an  armful  of  fagots,  her  foot  slipped ;  she  fell,  and  strik- 
ing her  head  against  the  corner  of  a  chair,  cut  her  temple 
severely. 

The  blow  stunned  her  for  a  time,  and  the  wound  bled 
profusely.  When  she  recovered,  she  found  the  Count's 
daughter  administering  to  her  wound,  and  binding  it  up 
with  her  own  handkerchief.  It  was  such  an  attention  as 
any  woman  of  ordinary  feeling  would  have  yielded ;  but 
perhaps  there  was  something  in  the  appearance  of  the 
lovely  being  who  bent  over  her,  or  in  the  tones  of  her 
voice,  that  touched  the  heart  of  the  woman,  unused  to  be 
administered  to  by  such  hands.  Certain  it  is,  she  was 
strongly  affected.  She  caught  the  delicate  hand  of  the 
Polonaise,  and  p-ressed  it  fervently  to  her  lips. 


352  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

"May  San  Francesco  watcli  over  you,  Signora!'*  ex- 
claimed she. 

A  new  arrival  broke  the  stillness  of  the  inn.  It  was  a 
Spanish  princess  with  a  numerous  retinue.  The  court- 
yard was  in  an  uproar ;  the  house  in  a  bustle.  The  land- 
lady hurried  to  attend  such  distinguished  guests;  and 
the  poor  Count  and  his  daughter,  and  their  supper,  were 
for  a  moment  forgotten.  The  veteran  Caspar  muttered 
Polish  maledictions  enough  to  agonize  an  Italian  ear; 
but  it  was  impossible  to  convince  the  hostess  of  the 
superiority  of  his  old  master  and  young  mistress  to  the 
whole  nobility  of  Spain. 

The  noise  of  the  arrival  had  attracted  the  daughter  to 
the  window  just  as  the  new-comers  had  alighted.  A 
young  cavalier  sprang  out  of  the  carriage  and  handed  out 
the  Princess.  The  latter  was  a  little  shrivelled  old  lady, 
with  a  face  of  parchment  and  sparkling  black  eye;  she 
was  richly  and  gayly  dressed,  and  walked  with  the  assist- 
ance of  a  golden-headed  cane  as  high  as  herself.  The 
young  man  was  tall  and  elegantly  formed.  The  Count's 
daughter  shrank  back  at  the  sight  of  him,  though  the 
deep  frame  of  the  window  screened  her  from  observation. 
She  gave  a  heavy  sigh  as  she  closed  the  casement.  What 
that  sigh  meant  I  cannot  say.  Perhaps  it  was  at  the  con- 
trast between  the  splendid  equipage  of  the  Princess,  and 
the  crazy  rheumatic-looking  old  vehicle  of  her  fafcher, 
which  stood  hard  by.  Whatever  might  be  the  reason, 
the  young  lady  closed  the  casement  with  a  sigh.     She 


TEE  BELATED   TRAVELLERS,  353 

returned  to  her  chair, — a  slight  shivering  passed  over 
her  delicate  frame :  she  leaned  her  elbow  on  the  arm  of 
the  chair,  rested  her  pale  cheek  in  the  palm  of  her  hand, 
and  looked  mournfully  into  the  fire. 

The  Count  thought  she  appeared  paler  than  usual. 

"  Does  anything  ail  thee,  my  child  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Nothing,  dear  father !  "  replied  she,  laying  her  hand 
within  his,  and  looking  up  smiling  in  his  face  ;  but  as  she 
said  so,  a  treacherous  tear  rose  suddenly  to  her  eye,  and 
she  turned  away  her  head. 

"  The  air  of  the  window  has  chilled  thee,"  said  the 
Count,  fondly,  "  but  a  good  night's  rest  will  make  all  well 
again." 

The  supper-table  was  at  length  laid,  and  the  supper 
about  to  be  served,  when  the  hostess  appeared,  with 
her  usual  obsequiousness,  apologizing  for  showing  in 
the  new-comers ;  but  the  night  air  was  cold,  and  there 
was  no  other  chamber  in  the  inn  with  a  fire  in  it. 
She  had  scarcely  made  the  apology  when  the  Prin- 
cess entered,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  elegant  young 
man. 

The  Count  immediately  recognized  her  for  a  lady 
whom  he  had  met  frequently  in  society,  both  at  Rome 
ftnd  Naples ;  and  at  whose  conversaziones,  in  fact,  he 
had  been  constantly  invited.  The  cavalier,  too,  was  her 
nephew  and  heir,  who  had  been  greatly  admired  in  the 
gay  circles  both  for  his  merits  and  prospects,  and  who 
had  once  been  on  a  visit  at  the  same  time  with  his 
23 


354  TALES  OF  A    TRA  VELLER, 

daughter  and  himself  at  the  villa  of  a  nobleman  near 
Naples.  Report  had  recently  affianced  him  to  a  rich 
Spanish  heiress. 

The  meeting  was  agreeable  to  both  the  Count  and  the 
Princess.  The  former  was  a  gentleman  of  the  old 
school,  courteous  in  the  extreme  ;  the  Princess  had  been 
a  belle  in  her  youth,  and  a  woman  of  fashion  all  her  life, 
and  liked  to  be  attended  to. 

The  young  man  approached  the  daughter,  and  began 
something  of  a  complimentary  observation  ;  but  his  man- 
ner was  embarrassed,  and  his  compliment  ended  in  an 
indistinct  murmur  ;  while  the  daughter  bowed  without 
looking  up,  moved  her  lips  without  articulating  a  word, 
and  sank  again  into  her  chair,  where  she  sat  gazing  into 
the  fire,  with  a  thousand  varying  expressions  passing 
over  her  countenance. 

This  singular  greeting  of  the  young  people  was  not 
perceived  by  the  old  ones,  who  were  occupied  at  the  time 
with  their  own  courteous  salutations.  It  was  arranged 
that  they  should  sup  together ;  and  as  the  Princess 
travelled  with  her  own  cook,  a  very  tolerable  supper 
soon  smoked  upon  the  board.  This,  too,  was  assisted 
by  choice  wines,  and  liquors,  and  delicate  confitures 
brought  from  one  of  her  carriages  ;  for  she  was  a  vet- 
eran epicure,  and  curious  in  her  relish  for  the  good 
things  of  this  world.  She  was,  in  fact,  a  vivacious  little 
old  lady,  who  mingled  the  woman  of  dissipation  with  the 
devotee.     She  was  actually  on  her  way  to  Loretto  to 


THE  BELATED   TRAVELLERS.  355 

expiate  a  long  life  of  gallantries  and  peccadilloes  by  a 
rich  offering  at  the  holy  shrine.  She  was,  to  be  sure, 
rather  a  luxurious  penitent,  and  a  contrast  to  the  primi- 
tive pilgrims,  with  scrip  and  staff,  and  cockle-shell ;  but 
then  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  expect  such  self-denial 
from  people  of  fashion  ;  and  there  was  not  a  doubt  of  the 
ample  efficacy  of  the  rich  crucifixes,  and  golden  vessels, 
and  jewelled  ornaments,  which  she  was  bearing  to  the 
treasury  of  the  blessed  Virgin. 

The  Princess  and  the  Count  chatted  much  during  sup- 
per about  the  scenes  and  society  in  which  they  had 
mingled,  and  did  not  notice  that  they  had  all  the  conver- 
sation to  themselves  :  the  young  people  were  silent  and 
constrained.  The  daughter  ate  nothing  in  spite  of  the 
politeness  of  the  Princess,  who  continually  pressed  her 
to  taste  of  one  or  other  of  the  delicacies.  The  Count 
shook  his  head. 

"  She  is  not  well  this  evening,"  said  he.  "  I  thought 
she  would  have  fainted  just  now  as  she  was  looking  out 
of  the  window  at  your  carriage  on  its  arrival." 

A  crimson  glow  flushed  to  the  very  temples  of  the 
daughter ;  but  she  leaned  over  her  plate,  and  her  tresses 
cast  a  shade  over  her  countenance. 

When  supper  was  over,  they  drew  their  chairs  about 
the  great  fireplace.  The  flame  and  smoke  had  subsided, 
and  a  heap  of  glowing  embers  diffused  a  grateful  warmth. 
A  guitar,  which  had  been  brought  from  the  Count's  car- 
riage, leaned  against  the  wall ;  the  Princess  perceived  it. — 


356  TALES  OF  A  TEA  YELLEB. 

"  Can  we  not  have  a  little  music  before  parting  for  the 
night  ?  "  demanded  she. 

The  Count  was  proud  of  his  daughter's  accomplish- 
ment, and  joined  in  the  request.  The  young  man  made 
an  effort  of  politeness,  and  taking  up  the  guitar,  pre- 
sented it,  though  in  an  embarrassed  manner,  to  the 
fair  musician.  She  would  have  declined  it,  but  was  too 
much  confused  to  do  so ;  indeed,  she  was  so  nervous  and 
agitated,  that  she  dared  not  trust  her  voice,  to  make  an 
excuse.  She  touched  the  instrument  with  a  faltering 
hand,  and,  after  preluding  a  little,  accompanied  herself  in 
several  Polish  airs.  Her  father's  eyes  glistened  as  he  sat 
gazing  on  her.  Even  the  crusty  Caspar  lingered  in  the 
room,  partly  through  a  fondness  for  the  music  of  his 
native  country,  but  chiefly  through  his  pride  in  the  musi- 
cian. Indeed  the  melody  of  the  voice,  and  the  delicacy 
of  the  touch,  were  enough  to  have  charmed  more  fastid- 
ious ears.  The  little  Princess  nodded  her  head  and 
tapped  her  hand  to  the  music,  though  exceedingly  out  of 
time ;  while  the  nephew  sat  buried  in  profound  contem- 
plation of  a  black  picture  on  the  opposite  wall. 

"And  now,"  said  the  Count,  patting  her  cheek  fondly, 
"one  more  favor.  Let  the  Princess  hear  that  little 
Spanish  air  you  were  so  fond  of.  You  can't  think," 
added  he,  "  what  a  proficiency  she  has  made  in  your  lan- 
guage ;  though  she  has  been  a  sad  girl,  and  neglected  it 
of  late." 

The  color  flushed  the  pale  cheek  of  the  daughter.     She 


THE  BELATED   TRAVELLERS.  357 

hesitated,  murmured  something;  but  with  sudden  effort, 
collected  herself,  struck  the  guitar  boldly,  and  began.  It 
was  a  Spanish  romance,  with  something  of  love  and 
melancholy  in  it.  She  gave  the  first  stanza  with  great 
expression,  for  the  tremulous,  melting  tones  of  her 
voice  went  to  the  heart ;  but  her  articulation  failed,  her 
lips  quivered,  the  song  died  away,  and  she  burst  into 
tears. 

The  Count  folded  her  tenderly  in  his  arms.  "  Thou 
art  not  well,  my  child,"  said  he,  "  and  I  am  tasking  thee 
cruelly.  Eetire  to  thy  chamber,  and  God  bless  thee  !  '* 
She  bowed  to  the  company  without  raising  her  eyes,  and 
glided  out  of  the  room. 

The  Count  shook  his  head  as  the  door  closed.  "  Some- 
thing is  the  matter  with  that  child,"  said  he,  "  which  I 
cannot  divine.  She  has  lost  all  health  and  spirits  lately. 
She  was  always  a  tender  flower,  and  I  had  much  pains  to 
rear  her.  Excuse  a  father's  foolishness,"  continued  he, 
"  but  I  have  seen  much  trouble  in  my  family ;  and  this 
poor  girl  is  all  that  is  now  left  to  me ;  and  she  used  to  be 
so  lively  " 

"  Maybe  she's  in  love  !  "  said  the  little  Princess,  with  a 
shrewd  nod  of  the  head. 

"  Impossible ! "  replied  the  good  Count,  artlessly. 
"She  has  never  mentioned  a  word  of  such  a  thing  to 
me." 

How  little  did  the  worthy  gentleman  dream  of  the 
thousand   cares,  and  griefs,  and   mighty  love   concerns 


358  TALES  OF  A   TBA  VELLEB. 

which  agitate  a  virgin  heart,  and  which  a  timid  girl 
scarcely  breathes  unto  herself. 

The  nephew  of  the  Princess  rose  abruptly  and  walked 
about  the  room. 

When  she  found  herself  alone  in  her  chamber,  the  feel- 
ings of  the  young  lady,  so  long  restrained,  broke  forth 
with  violence.  She  opened  the  casement  that  the  cool  air 
might  blow  upon  her  throbbing  temples.  Perhaps  there 
was  some  little  pride  or  pique  mingled  with  her  emotions ; 
though  her  gentle  nature  did  not  seem  calculated  to  har- 
bor any  such  angry  inmate. 

"  He  saw  me  weep  !  "  said  she,  with  a  sudden  mantling 
of  the  cheek,  and  a  swelling  of  the  throat, — "but  no  mat- 
ter ! — no  matter !  " 

And  so  saying,  she  threw  her  white  arms  across  the 
window-frame,  buried  her  face  in  them,  and  abandoned 
herself  to  an  agony  of  tears.  She  remained  lost  in  a 
reverie,  until  the  sound  of  her  father's  and  Caspar's 
voices  in  the  adjoining  room  gave  token  that  the  party 
had  retired  for  the  night.  The  lights  gleaming  from  win- 
dow to  window,  showed  that  they  were  conducting  the 
Princess  to  her  apartments,  which  were  in  the  opposite 
wing  of  the  inn ;  and  she  distinctly  saw  the  figure  of  the 
nephew  as  he  passed  one  of  the  casements. 

She  heaved  a  deep  heart-drawn  sigh,  and  was  about  to 
close  the  lattice,  when  her  attention  was  caught  by  words 
spoken  below  her  window  by  two  persons  who  had  just 
turned  an  angle  of  the  building. 


TEE  BELATED   TRAVELLERS.  359 

"  But  what  will  become  of  the  poor  young  ladj  ?  "  said 
a  voice,  which  she  recognized  for  that  of  the  servant- 
woman. 

"  Pooh !  she  must  take  her  chance,"  was  the  reply  from 
old  Pietro. 

"  But  cannot  she  be  spared  ?  "  asked  the  other,  entreat- 
ingly  ;  "  she's  so  kind-hearted  !  " 

"  Cospetto  !  what  has  got  into  thee  ?  "  replied  the 
other,  petulantly  :  "  would  you  mar  the  whole  business 
for  the  sake  of  a  silly  girl  ?  "  By  this  time  they  had  got 
so  far  from  the  window  that  the  Polonaise  could  hear 
nothing  further.  There  was  something  in  this  fragment 
of  conversation  calculated  to  alarm.  Did  it  relate  to 
herself? — and  if  so,  what  was  this  impending  danger 
from  which  it  was  entreated  that  she  might  be  spared  ? 
She  was  several  times  on  the  point  of  tapping  at  her 
father's  door,  to  tell  him  what  she  had  heard,  but  she 
might  have  been  mistaken  ;  she  might  have  heard  indis- 
tinctly ;  the  conversation  might  have  alluded  to  some  one 
else ;  at  any  rate,  it  was  too  indefinite  to  lead  to  any  con- 
clusion. While  in  this  state  of  irresolution,  she  was 
startled  by  a  low  knock  against  the  wainscot  in  a  remote 
part  of  her  gloomy  chamber.  On  holding  up  the  light, 
she  beheld  a  small  door  there,  which  she  had  not  before 
remarked.  It  was  bolted  on  the  inside.  She  advanced, 
and  demanded  who  knocked,  and  was  answered  in  a  voice 
of  the  female  domestic.  On  opening  the  door,  the  woman 
stood  before  it  pale  and   agitated.     She  entered  softly, 


360  TALES  OF  A  TBAYELLER. 

laying  her  finger  on  her  lips  as  in  sign  of  caution  and 
secrecy. 

"  Fly !  "  said  she  :  "  leave  this  house  instantly,  or  you 
are  lost ! " 

The  young  lady,  trembling  with  alarm,  demanded  an 
explanation. 

"  I  have  no  time,"  replied  the  woman,  "  I  dare  not — I 
shall  be  missed  if  I  linger  here — but  fly  instantly,  or  you 
are  lost." 

"  And  leave  my  father  ?  " 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  In  the  adjoining  chamber." 

"  Call  him,  then,  but  lose  no  time." 

The  young  lady  knocked  at  her  father's  door.  He  was 
not  yet  retired  to  bed.  She  hurried  into  his  room,  and 
told  him  of  the  fearful  warnings  she  had  received.  The 
Count  returned  with  her  into  the  chamber,  followed  by 
Caspar.  His  questions  soon  drew  the  truth  out  of  the 
embarrassed  answers  of  the  woman.  The  inn  was  beset 
by  robbers.  They  were  to  be  introduced  after  midnight, 
when  the  attendants  of  the  Princess  and  the  rest  of  the 
travellers  were  sleeping,  and  would  be  an  easy  prey. 

"But  we  can  barricade  the  inn,  we  can  defend  our- 
selves," said  the  Count. 

"  What !  when  the  people  of  the  inn  are  in  league  with 
the  banditti  ?  " 

"  How  then  are  we  to  escape  ?  Can  we  not  order  out 
the  carriage  and  depart  ?  " 


THE  BELATED  TRAVELLERS.  361 

"  San  Francesco  !  for  what  ?  to  give  the  alarm  that  the 
plot  is  discovered  ?  That  would  make  the  robbers  des- 
perate, and  bring  them  on  you  at  once.  They  have  had 
notice  of  the  rich  booty  in  the  inn,  and  will  not  easily  let 
it  escape  them." 

"But  how  else  are  we  to  get  off?  " 

"  There  is  a  horse  behind  the  inn,"  said  the  woman, 
"  from  which  the  man  has  just  dismounted  who  has  been 
to  summon  the  aid  of  part  of  the  band  at  a  distance." 

"  One  horse ;  and  there  are  three  of  us ! "  said  the 
Count. 

"  And  the  Spanish  Princess  !  "  cried  the  daughter,  anx- 
iously.    "How  can  she  be  extricated  from  the  danger  ?  " 

"Diavolo!  what  is  she  to  me?"  said  the  woman,  in 
sudden  passion.  "  It  is  you  I  come  to  save,  and  you  will 
betray  me,  and  we  shall  all  be  lost !  Hark  !  "  continued 
she,  "  I  am  called — I  shall  be  discovered — one  word 
more.  This  door  leads  by  a  staircase  to  the  courtyard. 
Under  the  shed,  in  the  rear  of  the  yard,  is  a  small  door 
leading  out  to  the  fields.  You  will  find  a  horse  there  ; 
mount  it ;  make  a  circuit  under  the  shadow  of  a  ridge  of 
rocks  that  you  will  see ;  proceed  cautiously  and  quietly 
until  you  cross  a  brook,  and  find  yourself  on  the  road 
just  where  there  are  three  white  crosses  nailed  against  a 
tree ;  then  put  your  horse  to  his  speed,  and  make  the 
best  of  your  way  to  the  village — but  recollect,  my  life  is 
in  your  hands — say  nothing  of  what  you  have  heard  or 
seen,  whatever  may  happen  at  this  inn." 


362  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

The  woman  hurried  away.  A  short  and  agitated  con- 
sultation took  place  between  the  Count,  his  daughter, 
and  the  veteran  Caspar.  The  young  lady  seemed  to 
have  lost  all  apprehension  for  herself  in  her  solicitude 
for  the  safety  of  the  Princess.  *'  To  fly  in  selfish  silence, 
and  leave  her  to  be  massacred !  " — A  shuddering  seized 
her  at  the  very  thought.  The  gallantry  of  the  Count, 
too,  revolted  at  the  idea.  He  could  not  consent  to  turn 
his  back  upon  a  party  of  helpless  travellers,  and  leave 
them  in  ignorance  of  the  danger  which  hung  over  them. 

"  But  what  is  to  become  of  the  young  lady,"  said  Cas- 
par, "if  the  alarm  is  given,  and  the  inn  thrown  in  a 
tumult?  What  may  happen  to  her  in  a  chance-medley 
affray?" 

Here  the  feelings  of  the  father  were  aroused ;  he 
looked  upon  his  lovely,  helpless  child,  and  trembled  at 
the  chance  of  her  falling  into  the  hands  of  ruffians. 

The  daughter,  however,  thought  nothing  of  herself. 
"  The  Princess  !  the  Princess  ! — only  let  the  Princess 
know  her  danger."  She  was  willing  to  share  it  with 
her. 

At  length  Caspar  interfered  with  the  zeal  of  a  faithful 
old  servant.  No  time  was  to  be  lost — the  first  thing 
was  to  get  the  young  lady  out  of  danger.  "  Mount  the 
horse,"  said  he  to  the  Count,  ''  take  her  behind  you,  and 
fly!  Make  for  the  village,  rouse  the  inhabitants,  and 
send  assistance.  Leave  me  here  to  give  the  alarm  to 
the  Princess  and  her  people.     I  am  an  old  soldier,  and 


TEE  BELATEB    TRAVELLERS  363 

I  think  we  shall  be  able  to  stand  siege  until  you  send 
us  aid." 

The  daughter  would  again  have  insisted  on  staying 
with  the  Princess — 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  old  Caspar,  bluntly.  "  You  could 
do  no  good — you  would  be  in  the  way ; — we  should  have 
to  take  care  of  you  instead  of  ourselves." 

There  was  no  answering  these  objections;  the  Count 
seized  his  pistols,  and  taking  his  daughter  under  his 
arm,  moved  towards  the  staircase.  The  young  lady 
paused,  stepped  back,  and  said,  faltering  with  agita- 
tion— "  There  is  a  young  cavalier  with  the  Princess — 
her  nephew — perhaps  he  may  " — 

"  I  understand  you,  Mademoiselle,"  replied  old  Cas- 
par, with  a  significant  nod  ;  "  not  a  hair  of  his  head  shall 
suffer  harm  if  I  can  help  it." 

The  young  lady  blushed  deeper  than  ever;  she  had 
not  anticipated  being  so  thoroughly  understood  by  the 
blunt  old  servant. 

"  That  is  not  what  I  mean,"  said  she,  hesitating.  She 
would  have  added  something,  or  made  some  explanation, 
but  the  moments  were  precious  and  her  father  hurried 
her  away. 

They  found  their  way  through  the  courtyard  to  the 
small  postern  gate  where  the  horse  stood,  fastened  to  a 
ring  in  the  wall.  The  Count  mounted,  took  his  daughter 
behind  him,  and  they  proceeded  as  quietly  as  possible  in 
the  direction  which  the  woman  had  pointed  out.     Many 


364  TALES  OF  A  TEA  YELLER. 

a  fearful  and  anxious  look  did  the  daughter  cast  back 
upon  the  gloomy  pile ;  the  lights  which  had  feebly 
twinkled  through  the  dusky  casements  were  one  by  one 
disappearing,  a  sign  that  the  inmates  were  gradually 
sinking  to  repose  ;  and  she  trembled  with  impatience, 
lest  succor  should  not  arrive  until  that  repose  had  been 
fatally  interrupted. 

They  passed  silently  and  safely  along  the  skirts  of  the 
rocks,  protected  from  observation  by  their  overhanging 
shadows.  They  crossed  the  brook,  and  reached  the 
place  where  three  white  crosses  nailed  against  a  tree 
told  of  some  murder  that  had  been  committed  there. 
Just  as  they  had  reached  this  ill-omened  spot  they 
beheld  several  men  in  the  gloom  coming  down  a  craggy 
defile  among  the  rocks. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  "  exclaimed  a  voice.  The  Count 
put  spurs  to  his  horse,  but  one  of  the  men  sprang  forward 
and  seized  the  bridle.  The  horse  started  back,  and 
reared  ;  and  had  not  the  young  lady  clung  to  her  father, 
she  would  have  been  thrown  off.  The  Count  leaned 
forward,  put  a  pistol  to  the  very  head  of  the  ruffian,  and 
fired.  The  latter  fell  dead.  The  horse  sprang  forward 
Two  or  three  shots  were  fired  which  whistled  by  the 
fugitives,  but  only  served  to  augment  their  speed.  Thoy 
reached  the  village  in  safety. 

The  whole  place  was  soon  roused ;  but  such  was  the 
awe  in  which  the  banditti  were  held,  that  the  inhabitants 
shrunk  at  the  idea  of  encountering  them.     A  desperate 


THE  BELATED   TRAVELLERS.  3^5 

band  had  for  some  time  infested  that  pass  through  the 
mountains,  and  the  inn  had  long  been  suspected  of  being 
one  oi  those  horrible  places  where  the  unsuspicious 
wayfarer  is  entrapped  and  silently  disposed  of.  The 
rich  ornaments  worn  by  the  slattern  hostess  of  the  inn 
had  excited  heavy  suspicions.  Several  instances  had 
occurred  of  small  parties  of  travellers  disappearing  mys- 
teriously on  that  road,  who,  it  was  supposed  at  first, 
had  been  carried  off  by  the  robbers  for  the  purpose 
of  ransom,  but  who  had  never  been  heard  of  more. 
Such  were  the  tales  buzzed  in  the  ears  of  the  Count 
by  the  villagers,  as  he  endeavored  to  rouse  them  to  the 
rescue  of  the  Princess  and  her  train  from  their  perilous 
situation.  The  daughter  seconded  the  exertions  of  her 
father  with  all  the  eloquence  of  prayers,  and  tears,  and 
beauty.  Every  moment  that  elapsed  increased  her  anxi- 
ety until  it  became  agonizing.  Fortunately  there  was  a 
body  of  gendarmes  resting  at  the  village.  A  number  of 
the  young  villagers  volunteered  to  accompany  them,  and 
the  little  army  was  put  in  motion.  The  Count  having 
deposited  his  daughter  in  a  place  of  safety,  was  too  much 
of  the  old  soldier  not  to  hasten  to  the  scene  of  danger. 
It  would  be  difficult  to  paint  the  anxious  agitation  of  the 
young  lady  while  awaiting  the  result. 

The  party  arrived  at  the  inn  just  in  time.  The  rob- 
bers, finding  their  plans  discovered,  and  the  travellers 
prepared  for  their  reception,  had  become  open  and  furi- 
ous in  their  attack.    The  Princess's  party  had  barricaded 


366  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

themselves  in  one  suite  of  apartments,  and  repulsed  the 
robbers  from  the  doors  and  windows.  Caspar  had  shown 
the  generalship  of  a  veteran,  and  the  nephew  of  the 
Princess  the  dashing  valor  of  a  young  soldier.  Their 
ammunition,  however,  was  nearly  exhausted,  and  they 
would  have  found  it  difficult  to  hold  out  much  longer, 
when  a  discharge  from  the  musketry  of  the  gendarmes 
gave  them  the  joyful  tidings  of  succor. 

A  fierce  fight  ensued,  for  part  of  the  robbers  were  sur- 
prised in  the  inn,  and  had  to  stand  siege  in  their  turn ; 
while  their  comrades  made  desperate  attempts  to  relieve 
them  from  under  cover  of  the  neighboring  rocks  and 
thickets. 

I  cannot  pretend  to  give  a  minute  account  of  the  fight, 
as  I  have  heard  it  related  in  a  variety  of  ways.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  the  robbers  were  defeated ;  several  of  them 
killed,  and  several  taken  prisoners ;  which  last,  together 
with  the  people  of  the  inn,  were  either  executed  or  sent 
to  the  galleys. 

I  picked  up  these  particulars  in  the  course  of  a  jour- 
ney which  I  made  some  time  after  the  event  had  taken 
place.  I  passed  by  the  very  inn.  It  was  then  disman- 
tled, excepting  one  wing,  in  which  a  body  of  gendarmes 
was  stationed.  They  pointed  out  to  me  the  shot-holes 
in  the  window-frames,  the  walls,  and  the  panels  of  the 
doors.  There  were  a  number  of  withered  limbs  dangling 
from  the  branches  of  a  neighboring  tree,  and  blackening 
in  the  air,  which  I  was  told  were  the  limbs  of  the  rob- 


THE  BELATED   TBAVELLEB8.  367 

bers  who  had  been  slain,  and  the  culprits  who  had  been 
executed.  The  whole  place  had  a  dismal,  wild,  forlorn 
look. 

"  "Were  any  of  the  Princess's  party  killed  ?  "  inquired 
the  Englishman. 

"  As  far  as  I  can  recollect,  there  were  two  or  three." 

"Not  the  nephew,  I  trust?  "  said  the  fair  Venetian. 

"  Oh  no :  he  hastened  with  the  Count  to  relieve  the 
anxiety  of  the  daughter  by  the  assurances  of  victory. 
The  young  lady  had  been  sustained  through  the  interval 
of  suspense  by  the  very  intensity  of  her  feelings.  The 
moment  she  saw  her  father  returning  in  safety,  accom- 
panied by  the  nephew  of  the  Princess,  she  uttered  a  cry 
of  rapture,  and  fainted.  Happily,  however,  she  soon 
recovered,  and  what  is  more,  was  married  shortly  after- 
wards to  the  young  cavalier ;  and  the  whole  party  accom- 
panied the  old  Princess  in  her  pilgrimage  to  Loretto, 
where  her  votive  offerings  may  still  be  seen  in  the  treas- 
ury of  the  Santa  Casa." 

It  would  be  tedious  to  follow  the  devious  course  of  the 
conversation  as  it  wound  through  a  maze  of  stories  of  the 
kind,  until  it  was  taken  up  by  two  other  travellers  who 
had  come  under  convoy  of  the  procaccio  :  Mr.  Hobbs  and 
Mr.  Dobbs,  a  linen-draper  and  a  green-grocer,  just  re^ 
turning  from  a  hasty  tour  in  Greece  and  the  Holy  Land. 
They  were  full  of  the  story  of  Alderman  Popkins.  They 
were  astonished  that  the  robbers  should  dare  to  molest  a 


368  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

man  of  his  importance  on  'Change,  he  being  an  eninent 
dry-salter  of  Throgmorton  Street,  and  a  magistrae  to 
boot. 

In  fact,  the  story  of  the  Popkins  family  was  but  too 
true.  It  was  attested  by  too  many  present  to  be  inc  a 
moment  doubted ;  and  from  the  contradictory  and  con- 
cordant testimony  of  half  a  score,  all  eager  to  relate  it, 
and  all  talking  at  the  same  time,  the  Englishman  vas 
enabled  to  gather  the  following  particulars. 


ADVENTUEE  OF  THE  POPKINS  FAMILY. 


T  was  but  a  few  days  before,  that  the  carriage  of 
Alderman  Popkins  had  driven  up  to  the  inn  of 
Terracina.  Those  who  have  seen  an  English 
family-carriage  on  the  Continent  must  have  remarked  the 
sensation  it  produces.  It  is  an  epitome  of  England ;  a 
little  morsel  of  the  old  Island  rolling  about  the  world. 
Everything  about  it  compact,  snug,  finished,  and  fitting. 
The  wheels  turning  on  patent  axles  without  rattling ;  the 
body,  hanging  so  well  on  its  springs,  yielding  to  every 
motion,  yet  protecting  from  every  shock  ;  the  ruddy  faces 
gaping  from  the  windows, — sometimes  of  a  portly  old  cit- 
izen, sometimes  of  a  voluminous  dowager,  and  sometimes 
of  a  fine  fresh  hoyden  just  from  boarding-school.  And 
then  the  dickeys  loaded  with  well-dressed  servants,  beef- 
fed  and  bluff ;  looking  down  from  their  heights  with  con- 
tempt on  all  the  world  around;  profoundly  ignorant  of 
the  country  and  the  people,  and  devoutly  certain  that 
everything  not  English  must  be  wrong. 

Such  was  the  carriage  of  Alderman  Popkins  as  it  made 
its  appearance  at  Terracina.     The  courier  who  had  pre- 
ceded it  to  order  horses,  and  who  was  a  Neapolitan,  had 
24  369 


370  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

given  a  magnificent  account  of  the  richness  and  greatness 
of  his  master ;  blundering  with  an  Italian's  splendor  of 
imagination  about  the  Alderman's  titles  and  dignities. 
The  host  had  added  his  usual  share  of  exaggeration ;  so 
that  by  the  time  the  Alderman  drove  up  to  the  door,  he 
was  a  Milor — Magnifico — Principe — the  Lord  knows 
what ! 

The  Alderman  was  advised  to  take  an  escort  to  Fondi 
and  Itri,  but  he  refused.  It  was  as  much  as  a  man's  life 
was  worth,  he  said,  to  stop  him  on  the  king's  highway : 
he  would  complain  of  it  to  the  ambassador  at  Naples ;  he 
would  make  a  national  affair  of  it.  The  Principe ssa  Pop- 
kins,  a  fresh,  motherly  dame,  seemed  perfectly  secure  in 
the  protection  of  her  husband,  so  omnipotent  a  man  in 
the  city.  The  Signorines  Popkins,  two  fine  bouncing 
girls,  looked  to  their  brother  Tom,  who  had  taken  lessons 
in  boxing ;  and  as  to  the  dandy  himself,  he  swore  no  scar- 
amouch of  an  Italian  robber  would  dare  to  meddle  with 
an  Englishman.  The  landlord  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  turned  out  the  palms  of  his  hands  with  a  true  Ital- 
ian grimace,  and  the  carriage  of  Milor  Popkins  rolled  on. 

They  passed  through  several  very  suspicious  places 
without  any  molestation.  The  Misses  Popkins,  who  were 
very  romantic,  and  had  learnt  to  draw  in  water-colors, 
were  enchanted  with  the  savage  scenery  around ;  it  was  so 
like  what  they  had  read  in  Mrs.  Kadcliff's  romances ;  they 
should  like,  of  all  things,  to  make  sketches.  At  length 
the  carriage  arrived  at  a  place  where  the  road  wound  up 


THE  POPKINS  FAMILY.  371 

a  long  hill.  Mrs.  Popkins  had  sunk  into  a  sleep ;  the 
young  ladies  were  lost  in  the  "Loves  of  the  Angels"; 
and  the  dandy  was  hectoring  the  postilions  from  the 
coach-box.  The  Alderman  got  out,  as  he  said,  to  stretch 
his  legs  up  the  hill.  It  was  a  long,  winding  ascent,  and 
obliged  him  every  now  and  then  to  stop  and  blow  and 
wipe  his  forehead,  with  many  a  pish!  and  phew!  being 
rather  pursy  and  short  of  wind.  As  the  carriage,  how- 
ever, was  far  behind  him,  and  moved  slowly  under  the 
weight  of  so  many  well-stuffed  trunks,  and  well-stuffed 
travellers,  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  walk  at  leisure. 

On  a  jutting  point  of  a  rock  that  overhung  the  road, 
nearly  at  the  summit  of  the  hill,  just  where  the  road 
began  again  to  descend,  he  saw  a  solitary  man  seated, 
who  appeared  to  be  tending  goats.  Alderman  Popkins 
was  one  of  your  shrewd  travellers  who  always  like  to 
be  picking  up  small  information  along  the  road;  so  he 
thought  he'd  just  scramble  up  to  the  honest  man,  and 
have  a  little  talk  with  him  by  way  of  learning  the  news 
and  getting  a  lesson  in  Italian.  As  he  drew  near  to  the 
peasant,  he  did  not  half  like  his  looks.  He  was  partly 
reclining  on  the  rocks,  wrapped  in  the  usual  long  mantle, 
which,  with  his  slouched  hat,  only  left  a  part  of  a 
swarthy  visage,  with  a  keen  black  eye,  a  beetle  brow,  and 
a  fierce  moustache  to  be  seen.  He  had  whistled  several 
times  to  his  dog,  which  was  roving  about  the  side  of  the 
hill.  As  the  Alderman  approached,  he  arose  and  greeted 
him.     "When  standing  erect,  he  seemed  almost  gigantic, 


372  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

at  least  in  tlie  eyes  of  Alderman  Popkins,  who,  however, 
being  a  short  man,  might  be  deceived. 

The  latter  would  gladly  now  have  been  back  in  the 
carriage,  or  even  on  'Change  in  London ;  for  he  was  by 
no  means  well  pleased  with  his  company.  However,  he 
determined  to  put  the  best  face  on  matters,  and  was 
beginning  a  conversation  about  the  state  of  the  weather, 
the  baddishness  of  the  crops,  and  the  price  of  goats  in 
that  part  of  the  country,  when  he  heard  a  violent  scream- 
ing. He  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  rock,  and  looking  over, 
beheld  his  carriage  surrounded  by  robbers.  One  held 
down  the  fat  footman,  another  had  the  dandy  by  his 
starched  cravat,  with  a  pistol  to  his  head  ;  one  was  rum- 
maging a  portmanteau,  another  rummaging  the  Princi- 
pessa's  pockets ;  while  the  two  Misses  Popkins  were 
screaming  from  each  window  of  the  carriage,  and  their 
waiting-maid  squalling  from  the  dickey. 

Alderman  Popkins  felt  all  the  ire  of  the  parent  and  the 
magistrate  roused  within  him.  He  grasped  his  cane, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  scrambling  down  the  rocks 
either  to  assault  the  robbers  or  to  read  the  riot  act, 
when  he  was  suddenly  seized  by  the  arm.  It  was  by  his 
friend  the  goatherd,  whose  cloak  falling  open,  discovered 
a  belt  stuck  full  of  pistols  and  stilettos.  In  short,  he 
found  himself  in  the  clutches  of  the  captain  of  the  band, 
who  had  stationed  himself  on  the  rock  to  look  out  for 
travellers  and  to  give  notice  to  his  men. 

A  sad  ransacking  took  place.     Trunks  were  turned 


THE  POPEINa  FAMILY,  373 

inside  out,  and  all  tlie  finery  and  frippery  of  the  Popkins 
family  scattered  about  the  road.  Such  a  chaos  of  Venice 
beads  and  Eoman  mosaics,  and  Paris  bonnets  of  the 
young  ladies,  mingled  with  the  Alderman's  nightcaps  and 
lambs'- wool  stockings,  and  the  dandy's  hair-brushes, 
stays,  and  starched  cravats. 

The  gentlemen  were  eased  of  their  purses  and  their 
watches,  the  ladies  of  their  jewels  ;  and  the  whole  party 
were  on  the  point  of  being  carried  up  into  the  mountain, 
when  fortunately  the  appearance  of  soldiers  at  a  distance 
obliged  the  robbers  to  make  off  with  the  spoils  they  had 
secured,  and  leave  the  Popkins  family  to  gather  together 
the  remnants  of  their  effects,  and  make  the  best  of  their 
way  to  Fondi. 

When  safe  arrived,  the  Alderman  made  a  terrible  blus- 
tering at  the  inn ;  threatened  to  complain  to  the  ambas- 
sador at  Naples,  and  was  ready  to  shake  his  cane  at  the 
whole  country.  The  dandy  had  many  stories  to  tell  of 
his  scuffles  with  the  brigands,  who  overpowered  him 
merely  by  numbers.  As  to  the  Misses  Popkins,  they 
were  quite  delighted  with  the  adventure,  and  were  occu- 
pied the  whole  evening  in  writing  it  in  their  journals. 
They  declared  the  captain  of  the  band  to  be  a  most 
romantic-looking  man,  they  dared  to  say  some  unfortu- 
nate lover  or  exiled  nobleman ;  and  several  of  the  band 
to  be  very  handsome  young  men — "  quite  picturesque  !  " 

"  In  verity,"  said  mine  host  of  Terracina,  "  they  say 
the  captain  of  the  band  is  un  gallant  uomo" 


374  TALE8  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

"A  gallant  man !  "  said  the  Englishman,  indignantly  i 
"  I'd  have  your  gallant  man  hanged  like  a  dog  !  " 

"To  dare  to  meddle  with  Englishmen!  "  said  Mr 
Hobbs. 

"  And  such  a  family  as  the  Popkinses ! "  said  Mr 
Dobbs. 

"  They  ought  to  come  upon  the  country  for  damages !  " 
said  Mr.  Hobbs. 

"  Our  ambassador  should  make  a  complaint  to  the 
government  of  Naples,"  said  Mr.  Dobbs. 

"  They  should  be  obliged  to  drive  these  rascals  out  of 
the  country,"  said  Hobbs. 

"  And  if  they  did  not,  we  should  declare  war  against 
them,"  said  Dobbs. 

"  Pish  ! — humbug !  "  muttered  the  Englishman  to  him- 
self, and  walked  away. 

The  Englishman  had  been  a  little  wearied  by  this 
story,  and  by  the  ultra  zeal  of  his  countrymen,  and  was 
glad  when  a  summons  to  their  supper  relieved  him  from 
the  crowd  of  travellers.  He  walked  out  with  his  Vene- 
tian friends  and  a  young  Frenchman  of  an  interesting 
demeanor,  who  had  become  sociable  with  them  in  the 
course  of  the  conversation.  They  directed  their  steps 
towards  the  sea,  which  was  lit  up  by  the  rising  moon. 

As  they  strolled  along  the  beach  they  came  to  where  a 
party  of  soldiers  were  stationed  in  a  circle.  They  were 
guarding  a  number  of  galley  slaves,  who  were  permitted 


TEE  POPEINS  FAMILY.  375 

to  refresh  themselves  in  the  evening  breeze,  and  sport 
and  roll  upon  the  sand. 

The  Frenchman  paused,  and  pointed  to  the  group  of 
wretches  at  their  sports.  "It  is  difficult,"  said  he,  "to 
conceive  a  more  frightful  mass  of  crime  than  is  here  col- 
lected. Many  of  these  have  probably  been  robbers,  such 
as  you  have  heard  described.  Such  is,  too  often,  the 
career  of  crime  in  this  country.  The  parricide,  the  fra- 
tricide, the  infanticide,  the  miscreant  of  every  kind,  first 
flies  from  justice  and  turns  mountain  bandit ;  and  then, 
when  wearied  of  a  life  of  danger,  becomes  traitor  to  his 
brother  desperadoes ;  betrays  them  to  punishment,  and 
thus  buys  a  commutation  of  his  own  sentence  from  death 
to  the  galleys ;  happy  in  the  privilege  of  wallowing  on 
the  shore  an  hour  a  day,  in  this  mere  state  of  animal 
enjoyment." 

The  fair  Yenetian  shuddered  as  she  cast  a  look  at  the 
horde  of  wretches  at  their  evening  amusement.  "  They 
seemed,"  she  said,  "like  so  many  serpents  writhing  to- 
gether." And  yet  the  idea  that  some  of  them  had  been 
robbers,  those  formidable  beings  that  haunted  her  imag- 
ination, made  her  still  cast  another  fearful  glance,  as  we 
contemplate  some  terrible  beast  of  prey,  with  a  degree 
of  awe  and  horror,  even  though  caged  and  chained. 

The  conversation  reverted  to  the  tales  of  banditti 
which  they  had  heard  at  the  inn.  The  Englishman  con- 
demned some  of  them  as  fabrications,  others  as  exagger- 
ations.    As  to  the  story  of  the  improvisatore,  he  pro- 


376  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

nounced  it  a  mere  piece  of  romance,  originating  in  tlie 
heated  brain  of  the  narrator. 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  Frenchman,  "  there  is  so  much 
romance  about  the  real  life  of  those  beings,  and  about  the 
singular  country  they  infest,  that  it  is  hard  to  tell  what 
to  reject  on  the  ground  of  improbability.  I  have  had  an 
adventure  happen  to  myself  which  gave  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  getting  some  insight  into  their  manners  and 
habits,  which  I  found  altogether  out  of  the  common  run 
of  existence." 

There  was  an  air  ol  mingled  frankness  and  modesty 
about  the  Frenchman  which  had  gained  the  goodwill  of 
the  whole  party,  not  even  excepting  the  Englishman. 
They  all  eagerly  inquired  after  the  particulars  of  the  cir- 
cumstances he  alluded  to,  and  as  they  strolled  slowly  up 
and  down  the  sea-shore,  he  related  the  following  adven- 
ture. 


THE    PAINTER'S    ADVENTURE. 


AM  an  historical  painter  by  profession,  and 
resided  for  some  time  in  the  family  of  a  foreign 
Prince  at  his  villa,  about  fifteen  miles  from 
Rome,  among  some  of  the  most  interesting  scenery  of 
Italy.  It  is  situated  on  the  heights  of  ancient  Tusculum. 
In  its  neighborhood  are  the  ruins  of  the  villas  of  Cicero, 
Scylla,  Lucullus,  Rufinus,  and  other  illustrious  Romans, 
who  sought  refuge  here  occasionally  from  their  toils,  in 
the  bosom  of  a  soft  and  luxurious  repose.  From  the 
midst  of  delightful  bowers,  refreshed  by  the  pure  moun- 
tain breeze,  the  eye  looks  over  a  romantic  landscape  full 
of  poetical  and  historical  associations.  The  Albanian 
Mountains;  Tivoli,  once  the  favorite  residence  of  Horace 
and  Mecsenas ;  the  vast,  deserted,  melancholy  Campagna, 
with  the  Tiber  winding  through  it,  and  St.  Peter's  dome 
swelling  in  the  midst,  the  monument,  as  it  were,  over  the 
grave  of  ancient  Rome. 

I  assisted  the  Prince  in  researches  which  he  was 
making  among  the  classic  ruins  of  his  vicinity :  his  exer- 
tions were  highly  successful.     Many  wrecks  of  admirable 

statues  and  fragments  of  exquisite  sculpture  were  dug 

377 


378  TALES  OF  A  TBAVh'LLER 

up;  monuments  of  the  taste  and  magnificence  that 
reigned  in  the  ancient  Tusculan  abodes.  He  had  studded 
his  villa  and  its  grounds  with  statues,  relievos,  vases,  and 
sarcophagi,  thus  retrieved  from  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 

The  mode  of  life  pursued  at  the  villa  was  delightfully 
serene,  diversified  by  interesting  occupations  and  elegant 
leisure.  Every  one  passed  the  day  according  to  his  pleas- 
ure or  pursuits ;  and  we  all  assembled  in  a  cheerful  din- 
ner-party at  sunset. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  of  November,  a  beautiful  serene 
day,  that  we  had  assembled  in  the  saloon  at  the  sound  of 
the  first  dinner-bell.  The  family  were  surprised  at  the 
absence  of  the  Prince's  confessor.  They  waited  for  him 
in  vain,  and  at  length  placed  themselves  at  table.  They 
at  first  attributed  his  absence  to  his  having  prolonged  his 
customary  walk  ;  and  the  early  part  of  the  dinner  passed 
without  any  uneasiness.  When  the  dessert  was  served, 
however,  without  his  making  his  appearance,  they  began 
to  feel  anxious.  They  feared  he  might  have  been  taken 
ill  in  some  alley  of  the  woods,  or  might  have  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  robbers.  Not  far  from  the  villa,  with  the 
interval  of  a  small  valley,  rose  the  mountains  of  the 
Abruzzi,  the  strong-hold  of  banditti.  Indeed,  the  neigh- 
borhood had  for  some  time  past  been  infested  by  them ; 
and  Barbone,  a  notorious  bandit  chief,  had  often  been  met 
prowling  about  the  solitudes  of  Tusculum.  The  daring 
enterprises  of  these  ruffians  were  well  known  :  the  objects 
of  their   cupidity  or  vengeance  were   insecure   even  in 


I 


THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE,  379 

palaces.  As  yet  thej  had  respected  the  possessions  of 
the  Prince  ;  but  the  idea  of  such  dangerous  spirits  hover- 
ing about  the  neighborhood  was  sufficient  to  occasion 
alarm. 

The  fears  of  the  company  increased  as  evening  closed 
in.  The  Prince  ordered  out  forest  guards  and  domestics 
with  flambeaux  to  search  for  the  confessor.  They  had 
not  departed  long  when  a  slight  noise  was  heard  in  the 
corridor  of  the  ground-floor.  The  family  were  dining  on 
the  first  floor,  and  the  remaining  domestics  were  occupied 
in  attendance.  There  was  no  one  on  the  ground-floor  at 
this  moment  but  the  housekeeper,  the  laundress,  and 
three  field-laborers,  who  w^ere  resting  themselves,  and 
conversing  with  the  women. 

I  heard  the  noise  from  below,  and  presuming  it  to  be 
occasioned  by  the  return  of  the  absentee,  I  left  the  table 
and  hastened  down-stairs,  eager  to  gain  intelligence  that 
might  relieve  the  anxiety  of  the  Prince  and  Princess.  I 
had  scarcely  reached  the  last  step,  when  I  beheld  before 
me  a  man  dressed  as  a  bandit ;  a  carbine  in  his  hand,  and 
a  stiletto  and  pistols  in  his  belt.  His  countenance  had  a 
mingled  expression  of  ferocity  and  trepidation :  he  sprang 
upon  me,  and  exclaimed  exultingly,  "  Ecco  il  principe !  " 

I  saw  at  once  into  what  hands  I  had  fallen,  but  en- 
deavored to  summon  up  coolness  and  presence  of  mind. 
A  glance  towards  the  lower  end  of  the  corridor  showed 
me  several  ruffians,  clothed  and  armed  in  the  same  man- 
ner with  the  one  who  had  seized  me.     They  were  guard- 


380  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

ing  the  two  females  and  the  field-laborers.  The  robber, 
who  held  me  firmly  by  the  collar,  demanded  repeatedly 
whether  or  not  I  were  the  Prince  :  his  object  evidently 
was  to  carry  off  the  Prince,  and  extort  an  immense  ran- 
som. He  was  enraged  at  receiving  none  but  vague  re- 
plies, for  I  felt  the  importance  of  misleading  him. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  me  how  I  might  extricate 
myself  from  his  clutches.  I  was  unarmed,  it  is  true,  but 
I  was  vigorous.  His  companions  were  at  a  distance. 
By  a  sudden  exertion  I  might  wrest  myself  from  him, 
and  spring  up  the  staircase,  whither  he  would  not  dare 
to  follow  me  singly.  The  idea  was  put  in  practice  as 
soon  as  conceived.  The  ruffian's  throat  was  bare ;  with 
my  right  hand  I  seized  him  by  it,  with  my  left  hand  I 
grasped  the  arm  which  held  the  carbine.  The  sudden- 
ness of  my  attack  took  him  completely  unawares,  and  the 
strangling  nature  of  my  grasp  paralyzed  him.  He 
choked  and  faltered.  I  felt  his  hand  relaxing  its  hold, 
and  was  on  the  point  of  jerking  myself  away,  and  darting 
up  the  staircase,  before  he  could  recover  himself,  when  I 
was  suddenly  seized  by  some  one  from  behind. 

I  had  to  let  go  my  grasp.  The  bandit,  once  released, 
fell  upon  me  with  fury,  and  gave  me  several  blows  with 
the  butt  end  of  his  carbine,  one  of  which  wounded  me 
severely  in  the  forehead  and  covered  me  with  blood. 
He  took  advantage  of  my  being  stunned  to  rifle  me  of  my 
watch,  and  whatever  valuables  I  had  about  my  person. 

When  I  recovered  from  the  effect  of  the  blow,  I  heard 


TEE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE.  381 

the  voice  of  the  chief  of  the  banditti,  who  exclaimed — 
"  Quello  e  il  principe  ;  siamo  contente  ;  andiamo !  "  (It 
is  the  Prince  ;  enough  ;  let  us  be  off.)  The  band  imme- 
diately closed  around  me  and  dragged  me  out  of  the 
palace,  bearing  off  the  three  laborers  likewise. 

I  had  no  hat  on,  and  the  blood  flowed  from  my 
wound ;  I  managed  to  stanch  it,  however,  with  my 
pocket-handkerchief,  which  I  bound  round  my  fore- 
head. The  captain  of  the  band  conducted  me  in  tri- 
umph, supposing  me  to  be  the  Prince.  We  had  gone 
some  distance  before  he  learnt  his  mistake  from  one  of 
the  laborers.  His  rage  was  terrible.  It  was  too  late  to 
return  to  the  villa  and  endeavor  to  retrieve  his  error,  for 
by  this  time  the  alarm  must  have  been  given,  and  every 
one  in  arms.  He  darted  at  me  a  ferocious  look, — swore 
I  had  deceived  him,  and  caused  him  to  miss  his  fortune, 
— and  told  me  to  prepare  for  death.  The  rest  of  the 
robbers  were  equally  furious.  I  saw  their  hands  upon 
their  poniards,  and  I  knew  that  death  was  seldom  an 
empty  threat  with  these  ruffians.  The  laborers  saw  the 
peril  into  which  their  information  had  betrayed  me,  and 
eagerly  assured  the  captain  that  I  was  a  man  for  whom 
the  Prince  would  pay  a  great  ransom.  This  produced  a 
pause.  For  my  part,  I  cannot  say  that  I  had  been  much 
dismayed  by  their  menaces.  I  mean  not  to  make  any 
boast  of  courage  ;  but  I  have  been  so  schooled  to  hard- 
ship during  the  late  revolutions,  and  have  beheld  death 
around  me  in  so  many  perilous  and  disastrous  scenes, 


382  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

that  I  have  become  in  some  measure  callous  to  its 
terrors.  The  frequent  hazard  of  life  makes  a  man  at 
length  as  reckless  of  it  as  a  gambler  of  his  money.  To 
their  threat  of  death,  I  replied,  "  that  the  sooner  it 
was  executed  the  better."  This  reply  seemed  to  as- 
tonish the  captain  ;  and  the  prospect  of  ransom  held  out 
by  the  laborers  had,  no  doubt,  a  still  greater  effect  on 
him.  He  considered  for  a  moment,  assumed  a  calmer 
manner,  and  made  a  sign  to  his  companions,  who  had 
remained  waiting  for  my  death-warrant.  "Forward!" 
said  he  ;   "  we  will  see  about  this  matter  by  and  by !  " 

We  descended  rapidly  towards  the  road  of  La  Molara, 
which  leads  to  Eocca  Priori.  In  the  midst  of  this  road 
is  a  solitary  inn.  The  captain  ordered  the  troop  to  halt 
at  the  distance  of  a  pistol-shot  from  it,  and  enjoined 
profound  silence.  He  approached  the  threshold  alone, 
with  noiseless  steps.  He  examined  the  outside  of  the 
door  very  narrowly,  and  then  returning  precipitately, 
made  a  sign  for  the  troop  to  continue  its  march  in 
silence.  It  has  since  been  ascertained,  that  this  was  one 
of  those  infamous  inns  which  are  the  secret  resorts  of 
banditti.  The  innkeeper  had  an  understanding  with  the 
captain,  as  he  most  probably  had  with  the  chiefs  of  the 
different  bands.  When  any  of  the  patroles  and  gens- 
d'armes  were  quartered  at  his  house,  the  brigands  were 
warned  of  it  by  a  preconcerted  signal  on  the  door ;  when 
there  was  no  such  signal,  they  might  enter  with  safety, 
and  be  sure  of  welcome. 


_    THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE.  383 

After  pursuing  our  road  a  little  further,  we  struck  off 
towards  the  woody  mountains  which  envelop  Rocca 
Priori.  Our  march  was  long  and  painful ;  with  many 
circuits  and  windings ;  at  length  we  clambered  a  steep 
ascent,  covered  with  a  thick  forest ;  and  when  we  had 
reached  the  centre,  I  was  told  to  seat  myself  on  the 
ground.  No  sooner  had  I  done  so,  than,  at  a  sign  from 
their  chief,  the  robbers  surrounded  me,  and  spreading 
their  great  cloaks  from  one  to  the  other,  formed  a  kind  of 
pavilion  of  mantles,  to  which  their  bodies  might  be  said 
to  serve  as  columns.  The  captain  then  struck  a  light, 
and  a  flambeau  was  lit  immediately.  The  mantles  were 
extended  to  prevent  the  light  of  the  flambeau  from  being 
seen  through  the  forest.  Anxious  as  was  my  situation,  I 
could  not  look  round  upon  this  screen  of  dusky  drapery, 
relieved  by  the  bright  colors  of  the  robbers'  garments, 
the  gleaming  of  their  weapons,  and  the  variety  of  strong 
marked  countenances,  lit  up  by  the  flambeau,  without 
admiring  the  picturesque  effect  of  the  scene.  It  was 
quite  theatrical. 

The  captain  now  held  an  inkhorn,  and  giving  me  pen 
and  paper,  ordered  me  to  write  what  he  should  dictate. 
I  obeyed.  It  was  a  demand,  couched  in  the  style  of 
robber  eloquence,  "  that  the  Prince  should  send  three 
thousand  dollars  for  my  ransom ;  or  that  my  death 
should  be  the  consequence  of  a  refusal." 

I  knew  enough  of  the  desperate  character  of  these 
beings  to  feel  assured  this  was  not  an  idle   menace. 


384  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLER. 

Their  only  mode  of  insuring  attention  to  their  demands 
is  to  make  the  infliction  of  the  penalty  inevitable.  I  saw 
at  once,  however,  that  the  demand  was  preposterous,  and 
made  in  improper  language. 

I  told  the  captain  so,  and  assured  him  that  so  extrava- 
gant a  sum  would  never  be  granted. — "  That  I  was  neither 
a  friend  nor  relative  of  the  Prince,  but  a  mere  artist,  em- 
ployed to  execute  certain  paintings.  That  I  had  nothing 
to  offer  as  a  ransom,  but  the  price  of  my  labors ;  if  this 
were  not  sufficient,  my  life  was  at  their  disposal ;  it  was  a 
thing  on  which  I  set  but  little  value." 

I  was  the  more  hardy  in  my  reply,  because  I  saw  that 
coolness  and  hardihood  had  an  effect  upon  the  robbers. 
It  is  true,  as  I  finished  speaking,  the  captain  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  stiletto ;  but  he  restrained  himself,  and  snatch- 
ing the  letter,  folded  it,  and  ordered  me,  in  a  peremptory 
tone,  to  address  it  to  the  Prince.  He  then  dispatched 
one  of  the  laborers  with  it  to  Tusculum,  who  promised  to 
return  with  all  possible  speed. 

The  robbers  now  prepared  themselves  for  sleep,  and  I 
was  told  that  I  might  do  the  same.  They  spread  their 
great  cloaks  on  the  ground,  and  lay  down  around  me. 
One  was  stationed  at  a  little  distance  to  keep  watch,  and 
was  relieved  every  two  hours.  The  strangeness  and  wild- 
ness  of  this  mountain  bivouac  among  lawless  beings, 
whose  hands  seemed  ever  ready  to  grasp  the  stiletto,  and 
with  whom  life  was  so  trivial  and  insecure,  was  enough  to 
banish  repose.    The  coldness  of  the  earth,  and  of  the  dew, 


THE  PAINTEB'8  ADVENTURE.  385 

however,  had  a  still  greater  effect  than  mental  causes  in 
disturbing  mj  rest.  The  airs  wafted  to  these  mountains 
from  the  distant  Mediterranean  diffused  a  great  chilliness 
as  the  night  advanced.  An  expedient  suggested  itself.  I 
called  one  of  my  fellow-prisoners,  the  laborers,  and  made 
him  lie  down  beside  me.  Whenever  one  of  my  limbs  be- 
came chilled,  I  approached  it  to  the  robust  limb  of  my 
neighbor,  and  borrowed  some  of  his  warmth.  In  this  way 
I  was  able  to  obtain  a  little  sleep. 

Day  at  length  dawned,  and  I  was  roused  from  my  slum- 
ber by  the  voice  of  the  chieftain.  He  desired  me  to  rise 
and  follow  him.  I  obeyed.  On  considering  his  physiog- 
nomy attentively,  it  appeared  a  little  softened.  He  even 
assisted  me  in  scrambling  up  the  steep  forest,  among 
rocks  and  brambles.  Habit  had  made  him  a  vigorous 
mountaineer ;  but  I  found  it  excessively  toilsome  to 
climb  these  rugged  heights.  We  arrived  at  length  at  the 
summit  of  the  mountain. 

Here  it  was  that  I  felt  all  the  enthusiasm  of  my  art 

suddenly  awakened ;  and  I  forgot  in  an  instant  all  my 

perils  and  fatigues  at  this  magnificent  view  of  the  sunrise 

in  the  midst  of  the  mountains  of  the  Abruzzi.     It  was  on 

these  heights  that  Hannibal  first  pitched  his  camp,  and 

pointed  out  Borne  to  his  followers.     The  eye  embraces  a 

vast  extent  of  country.     The  minor  height  of  Tusculum, 

with  its  villas  and  its  sacred  ruins,  lie  below ;  the  Sabine 

Hills  and  the  Albanian  Mountains  stretch  on  either  hand ; 

and  beyond  Tusculum  and  Frascati  spreads  out  the  im- 
25 


386  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLElt. 

mense  Campagna,  with  its  lines  of  tombs,  and  here  and 
there  a  broken  aqueduct  stretching  across  it,  and  the 
towers  and  domes  of  the  eternal  city  in  the  midst. 

Fancy  this  scene  lit  up  by  the  glories  of  a  rising  sun, 
and  bursting  upon  my  sight  as  I  looked  forth  from  among 
the  majestic  forests  of  the  Abruzzi.  Fancy,  too,  the  sav- 
age foreground,  made  still  more  savage  by  groups  of  ban- 
ditti, armed  and  dressed  in  their  wild  picturesque  man- 
ner, and  you  will  not  wonder  that  the  enthusiasm  of  a 
painter  for  a  moment  overpowered  all  his  other  feelings. 

The  banditti  were  astonished  at  my  admiration  of  a 
scene  which  familiarity  had  made  so  common  in  their 
eyes.  I  took  advantage  of  their  halting  at  this  spot, 
drew  forth  a  quire  of  drawing-paper,  and  began  to  sketch 
the  features  of  the  landscape.  The  height  on  which  I 
was  seated  was  wild  and  solitary,  separated  from  the 
ridge  of  Tusculum  by  a  valley  nearly  three  miles  wide, 
though  the  distance  appeared  less  from  the  purity  of  the 
atmosphere.  This  height  was  one  of  the  favorite  re* 
treats  of  the  banditti,  commanding  a  look-out  over  the 
country ;  while  at  the  same  time  it  was  covered  with 
forests,  and  distant  from  the  populous  haunts  of  men. 

While  I  was  sketching,  my  attention  was  called  off  for  a 
moment  by  the  cries  of  birds,  and  the  bleatings  of  sheep. 
I  looked  around,  but  could  see  nothing  of  the  animals 
which  uttered  them.  They  were  repeated,  and  appeared 
to  come  from  the  summits  of  the  trees.  On  looking 
more  narrowly,  I  perceived  six  of  the  robbers  perched  in 


THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE.  387 

the  tops  of  oaks,  which  grew  on  the  breezy  crest  of  the 
mountain,  and  commanded  an  uninterrupted  prospect. 
They  were  keeping  a  look-out  like  so  many  vultures ; 
casting  their  eyes  into  the  depths  of  the  valley  below  us ; 
communicating  with  each  other  by  signs,  or  holding  dis- 
course in  sounds  which  might  be  mistaken  by  the  way- 
farer for  the  cries  of  hawks  and  crows,  or  the  bleating  of 
the  mountain  flocks.  After  they  had  reconnoitred  the 
neighborhood,  and  finished  their  singular  discourse,  they 
descended  from  their  airy  perch,  and  returned  to  their 
prisoners.  The  captain  posted  three  of  them  at  three 
naked  sides  of  the  mountain,  while  he  remained  to  guard 
us  with  what  appeared  his  most  trusty  companion. 

I  had  my  book  of  sketches  in  my  hand ;  he  requested 
to  see  it,  and  after  having  run  his  eye  over  it,  expressed 
himself  convinced  of  the  truth  of  my  assertion  that  I  was 
a  painter.  I  thought  I  saw  a  gleam  of  good  feeling 
dawning  in  him,  and  determined  to  avail  myself  of  it.  I 
knew  that  the  worst  of  men  have  their  good  points  and 
their  accessible  sides,  if  one  would  but  study  them  care- 
fully. Indeed,  there  is  a  singular  mixture  in  the  char- 
acter of  the  Italian  robber.  With  reckless  ferocity  he 
often  mingles  traits  of  kindness  and  good-humor.  He  is 
not  always  radically  bad  ;  but  driven  to  his  course  of  life 
by  some  unpremeditated  crime,  the  effect  of  those  sud- 
den bursts  of  passion  to  which  the  Italian  temperament 
is  prone.  This  has  compelled  him  to  take  to  the  moun- 
tains, or,  as  it  is  technically  termed  among  them,  "an- 


388  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

dare  in  campagna."  He  has  become  a  robber  by  pro- 
fession ;  but,  like  a  soldier,  when  not  in  action  he  can 
lay  aside  his  weapon  and  his  fierceness,  and  become  like 
other  men. 

I  took  occasion,  from  the  observations  of  the  captain 
on  my  sketchings,  to  fall  into  conversation  with  him,  and 
found  him  sociable  and  communicative.  By  degrees  I 
became  completely  at  my  ease  with  him.  I  had  fancied 
I  perceived  about  him  a  degree  of  self-love,  which  I 
determined  to  make  use  of.  I  assumed  an  air  of  careless 
frankness,  and  told  him,  that,  as  an  artist,  I  pretended  to 
the  power  of  judging  of  the  physiognomy  ;  that  I  thought 
I  perceived  something  in  his  features  and  demeanor 
which  announced  him  worthy  of  higher  fortunes ;  that  he 
was  not  formed  to  exercise  the  profession  to  which  he 
had  abandoned  himself  ;  that  he  had  talents  and  qualities 
fitted  for  a  nobler  sphere  of  action ;  that  he  had  but  to 
change  his  course  of  life,  and,  in  a  legitimate  career,  the 
same  courage  and  endowments  which  now  made  him  an 
object  of  terror,  would  assure  him  the  applause  and  ad- 
miration of  society. 

I  had  not  mistaken  my  man;  my  discourse  both 
touched  and  excited  him.  He  seized  my  hand,  pressed 
it,  and  replied  with  strong  emotion,  "You  have  guessed 
the  truth  ;  you  have  judged  of  me  rightly."  He  remained 
for  a  moment  silent ;  then,  with  a  kind  of  effort,  he 
resumed, — "  I  will  tell  you  some  particulars  of  my  life, 
and  you  will  perceive   that  it  was  the   oppression  of 


THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE.  389 

otliers,  rather  than  my  own  crimes,  which  drove  me  to 
the  mountains.  I  sought  to  serve  my  fellow-men,  and 
they  have  persecuted  me  from  among  them."  We  seated 
ourselves  on  the  grass,  and  the  robber  gave  me  the  fol- 
lowing anecdotes  of  his  history. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  BANDIT  CHIEFTAIN. 

AM  a  native  of  the  village  of  ProssedL  My 
father  was  easy  enough  in  circumstances,  and 
we  lived  peaceably  and  independently,  cultivat- 
ing our  fields.  All  went  on  well  with  us,  until  a  new 
chief  of  the  Sbirri  was  sent  to  our  village  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  police.  He  was  an  arbitrary  fellow,  prying 
into  everything,  and  practising  all  sorts  of  vexations  and 
oppressions  in  the  discharge  of  his  office.  I  was  at  that 
time  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  had  a  natural  love  of  jus- 
tice and  good  neighborhood.  I  had  also  a  little  educa- 
tion, and  knew  something  of  history,  so  as  to  be  able  to 
judge  a  little  of  men  and  their  actions.  All  this  inspired 
me  with  hatred  for  this  paltry  despot.  My  own  family, 
also,  became  the  object  of  his  suspicion  or  dislike,  and 
felt  more  than  once  the  arbitrary  abuse  of  his  power. 
These  things  worked  together  in  my  mind,  and  I  gasped 
after  vengeance.  My  character  was  always  ardent  and 
energetic,  and,  acted  upon  by  the  love  of  justice,  de- 
termined me,  by  one  blow,  to  rid  the  country  of  the 
tyrant. 

Full  of  my  project,  I  rose  one  morning  before  peep  of 

890 


TEE  BANDIT  CHIEFTAIN.  391 

day,  and  concealing  a  stiletto  under  my  waistcoat, — here 
you  see  it ! — (and  lie  drew  forth  a  long,  keen  poniard,)  I 
lay  in  wait  for  him  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village.  I 
knew  all  his  haunts,  and  his  habit  of  making  his  rounds 
and  prowling  about  like  a  wolf  in  the  gray  of  the  morn- 
ing. At  length  I  met  him,  and  attacked  him  with  fury. 
He  was  armed,  but  I  took  him  unawares,  and  was  full 
of  youth  and  vigor.  I  gave  him  repeated  blows  to  make 
sure  work,  and  laid  him  lifeless  at  my  feet. 

When  I  was  satisfied  that  I  had  done  for  him,  I  re- 
turned with  all  haste  to  the  village,  but  had  the  ill  luck 
to  meet  two  of  the  Sbirri  as  I  entered  it.  They  accosted 
me,  and  asked  if  I  had  seen  their  chief.  I  assumed  an  air 
of  tranquillity,  and  told  them  I  had  not.  They  continued 
on  their  way,  and  within  a  few  hours  brought  back  the 
dead  body  to  Prossedi.  Their  suspicions  of  me  being 
already  awakened,  I  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  pris- 
on. Here  I  lay  several  weeks,  when  the  Prince,  who 
was  Seigneur  of  Prossedi,  directed  judicial  proceedings 
against  me.  I  was  brought  to  trial,  and  a  witness  was 
produced,  who  pretended  to  have  seen  me  flying  with 
precipitation  not  far  from  the  bleeding  body;  and  so  I 
was  condemned  to  the  galleys  for  thirty  years. 

"  Curse  on  such  laws ! "  vociferated  the  bandit,  foaming 
with  rage :  "  Curse  on  such  a  government !  and  ten  thou- 
sand curses  on  the  Prince  who  caused  me  to  be  adjudged 
so  rigorously,  while  so  many  other  Eoman  Princes  har- 
bor and  protect  assassins  a  thousand  times  more  culpa- 


392  TALES  OF  A   TRAVELLER. 

ble !  What  liad  I  done  but  what  was  inspired  by  a  love 
of  justice  and  my  country?  Why  was  my  act  more  culpa- 
ble than  that  of  Brutus,  when  he  sacrificed  Caesar  to  the 
cause  of  liberty  and  justice  ?  " 

There  was  something  at  once  both  lofty  and  ludicrous 
in  the  rhapsody  of  this  robber  chief,  thus  associating 
himself  with  one  of  the  great  names  of  antiquity.  It 
showed,  however,  that  he  had  at  least  the  merit  of  know- 
ing the  remarkable  facts  in  the  history  of  his  country. 
He  became  more  calm,  and  resumed  his  narrative. 

"I  was  conducted  to  Civita  Yecchia  in  fetters.  My 
heart  was  burning  with  rage.  I  had  been  married  scarce 
six  months  to  a  woman  whom  I  passionately  loved,  and 
who  was  pregnant.  My  family  was  in  despair.  For  a 
long  time  I  made  unsuccessful  efforts  to  break  my  chain. 
At  length  I  found  a  morsel  of  iron,  which  I  hid  care- 
fully, and  endeavored,  with  a  pointed  flint,  to  fashion  it 
into  a  kind  of  file.  I  occupied  myself  in  this  work  during 
the  night-time,  and  when  it  was  finished,  I  made  out, 
after  a  long  time,  to  sever  one  of  the  rings  of  my  chain. 
My  flight  was  successful. 

"  I  wandered  for  several  weeks  in  the  mountains  which 
surround  Prossedi,  and  found  means  to  inform  my  wife 
of  the  place  where  I  was  concealed.  She  came  often  to 
see  me.  I  had  determined  to  put  myself  at  the  head  of 
an  armed  band.  She  endeavored,  for  a  long  time,  to  dis- 
suade me,  but  finding  my  resolution  fixed,  she  at  length 
united  in  my  project  of  vengeance,  and  brought  me,  her- 


THE  BANDIT  CHIEFTAIN.  393 

self,  my  poniard.  By  her  means  I  communicated  with 
several  brave  fellows  of  the  neighboring  villages,  whom  I 
knew  to  be  ready  to  take  to  the  mountains,  and  only 
panting  for  an  opportunity  to  exercise  their  daring 
spirits.  We  soon  formed  a  combination,  procured  arms, 
and  we  have  had  ample  opportunities  of  revenging  our- 
selves for  the  wrongs  and  injuries  which  most  of  us  have 
suffered.  Everything  has  succeeded  with  us  until  now; 
and  had  it  not  been  for  our  blunder  in  mistaking  you  for 
the  Prince,  our  fortunes  would  have  been  made." 

Here  the  robber  concluded  his  story.  He  had  talked 
himself  into  complete  companionship,  and  assured  me  he 
no  longer  bore  me  any  grudge  for  the  error  of  which  I 
had  been  the  innocent  cause.  He  even  professed  a  kind- 
ness for  me,  and  wished  me  to  remain  some  time  with 
them.  He  promised  to  give  me  a  sight  of  certain  grottos 
which  they  occupied  beyond  Yilletri,  and  whither  they 
resorted  during  the  intervals  of  their  expeditions. 

He  assured  me  that  they  led  a  jovial  life  there  ;  had 
plenty  of  good  cheer ;  slept  on  beds  of  moss ;  and  were 
waited  upon  by  young  and  beautiful  females,  whom  I 
might  take  for  models. 

I  confess  I  felt  my  curiosity  roused  by  his  descriptions 
of  the  grottos  and  their  inhabitants :  they  realized  those 
scenes  in  robber  story  which  I  had  always  looked  upon 
as  mere  creations  of  the  fancy.  I  should  gladly  have  ac- 
cepted his  invitation,  and  paid  a  visit  to  these  caverns, 
could  I  have  felt  more  secure  in  my  company. 


394  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLEB, 

I  began  to  find  mj  situation  less  painful.  I  had  evi- 
dently propitiated  the  good- will  of  the  chieftain,  and 
hoped  that  he  might  release  me  for  a  moderate  ransom. 
A  new  alarm,  however,  awaited  me.  While  the  captain 
was  looking  out  with  impatience  for  the  return  of  the 
messenger,  who  had  been  sent  to  the  Prince,  the  sentinel 
posted  on  the  side  of  the  mountain  facing  the  plain  of 
La  Molara  came  running  towards  us.  "We  are  be- 
trayed !  "  exclaimed  he.  "  The  police  of  Frascati  are  af- 
ter us.  A  party  of  carabineers  have  just  stopped  at  the 
inn  below  the  mountain."  Then,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
stiletto,  he  swore,  with  a  terrible  oath,  that  if  they 
made  the  least  movement  towards  the  mountain,  my  life 
and  the  lives  of  my  fellow  -  prisoners  should  answer 
for  it. 

The  chieftain  resumed  all  his  ferocity  of  demeanor,  and 
approved  of  what  his  companion  said ;  but  when  the  lat- 
ter had  returned  to  his  post,  he  turned  to  me  with  a  soft- 
ened air :  "  I  must  act  as  chief,"  said  he,  "  and  humor 
my  dangerous  subalterns.  It  is  a  law  with  us  to  kill  our 
prisoners  rather  than  suffer  them  to  be  rescued;  but  do 
not  be  alarmed.  In  case  we  are  surprised,  keep  by  me  ; 
fly  with  us,  and  I  will  consider  myself  responsible  for 
your  life." 

There  was  nothing  very  consolatory  in  this  arrange- 
ment, which  would  have  placed  me  between  two  dangers. 
I  scarcely  knew,  in  case  of  flight,  from  which  I  should 
have  the  most  to  apprehend,  the  carbines  of  the  pursuers, 


THE  BANDIT  CHIEFTAIN  395 

or  the  stilettos  of  the  pursued.  I  remained  silent,  how- 
ever, and  endeavored  to  maintain  a  look  of  tranquillity. 

For  an  hour  was  I  kept  in  this  state  of  peril  and 
anxiety.  The  robbers,  crouching  among  their  leafy  cov- 
erts, kept  an  eagle  watch  upon  the  carabineers  below, 
as  they  loitered  about  the  inn ;  sometimes  lolling  about 
the  portal ;  sometimes  disappearing  for  several  minutes  ; 
then  sallying  out,  examining  their  weapons,  pointing  in 
different  directions,  and  apparently  asking  questions 
about  the  neighborhood.  Not  a  movement,  a  gesture, 
was  lost  upon  the  keen  eyes  of  the  brigands.  At  length 
we  were  relieved  from  our  apprehensions.  The  carabi- 
neers having  finished  their  refreshment,  seized  their 
arms,  continued  along  the  valley  towards  the  great  road, 
and  gradually  left  the  mountain  behind  them.  "  I  felt 
almost  certain,"  said  the  chief,  "  that  they  could  not  be 
sent  after  us.  They  know  too  well  how  prisoners  have 
fared  in  our  hands  on  similar  occasions.  Our  laws  in  this 
respect  are  inflexible,  and  are  necessary  for  our  safety. 
If  we  once  flinched  from  them,  there  would  no  longer  be 
such  a  thing  as  a  ransom  to  be  procured." 

There  were  no  signs  yet  of  the  messenger's  return.  I 
was  preparing  to  resume  my  sketching,  when  the  captain 
drew  a  quire  of  paper  from  his  knapsack.  "  Come,"  said 
he,  laughing,  "  you  are  a  painter, — take  my  likeness.  The 
leaves  of  your  portfolio  are  small, — draw  it  on  this."  I 
gladly  consented,  for  it  was  a  study  that  seldom  presents 
itself  to  a  painter.     I  recollected  that  Salvator  Bosa  in 


396  TALES  OF  A  TRA  TELLER. 

his  youth  had  voluntarily  sojourned  for  a  time  among  the 
banditti  of  Calabria,  and  had  filled  his  mind  with  the 
savage  scenery  and  savage  associates  by  which  he  was 
surrounded.  I  seized  my  pencil  with  enthusiasm  at  the 
thought.  I  found  the  captain  the  most  docile  of  sub- 
jects, and,  after  various  shiftings  of  position,  placed  him 
in  an  attitude  to  my  mind. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  stern  muscular  figure,  in  fanciful 
bandit  costume ;  with  pistols  and  poniard  in  belt ;  his 
brawny  neck  bare  ;  a  handkerchief  loosely  thrown  around 
it,  and  the  two  ends  in  front  strung  with  rings  of  all 
kinds,  the  spoils  of  travellers ;  relics  and  medals  hanging 
on  his  breast ;  his  hat  decorated  with  various  colored 
ribbons ;  his  vest  and  short  breeches  of  bright  colors, 
and  finely  embroidered ;  his  legs  in  buskins  or  leggins. 
Fancy  him  on  a  mountain  height,  among  wild  rocks  and 
rugged  oaks,  leaning  on  his  carbine,  as  if  meditating  some 
exploit ;  while  far  below  are  beheld  villages  and  villas, 
the  scenes  of  his  maraudings,  with  the  wide  Campagna 
dimly  extending  in  the  distance. 

The  robber  was  pleased  with  the  sketch,  and  seemed  to 
admire  himself  upon  paper.  I  had  scarcely  finished,  when 
the  laborer  arrived  who  had  been  sent  for  my  ransom. 
He  had  reached  Tusculum  two  hours  after  midnight. 
He  had  brought  me  a  letter  from  the  Prince,  who  was  in 
bed  at  the  time  of  his  arrival.  As  I  had  predicted,  he 
treated  the  demand  as  extravagant,  but  offered  five  hun- 
dred dollars  for  my  ransom.     Having  no  money  by  him 


THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE.  397 

at  the  moment,  lie  had  sent  a  note  for  the  amount,  pay- 
able to  whomsoever  should  conduct  me  safe  and  sound  to 
Home.  I  presented  the  note  of  hand  to  the  chieftain ;  he 
received  it  with  a  shrug.  "  Of  what  use  are  notes  of  hand 
to  us?"  said  he.  "Who  can  we  send  with  you  to  Rome 
to  receive  it  ?  We  are  all  marked  men ;  known  and  de- 
scribed at  every  gate,  and  military  post,  and  village 
church-door.  No  ;  we  must  have  gold  and  silver ;  let  the 
sum  be  paid  in  cash,  and  you  shall  be  restored  to  lib- 
erty." 

The  captain  again  placed  a  sheet  of  paper  before  me  to 
communicate  his  determination  to  the  Prince.  When  I 
had  finished  the  letter,  and  took  the  sheet  from  the 
quire,  I  found  on  the  opposite  side  of  it  the  portrait 
which  I  had  just  been  tracing.  I  was  about  to  tear  it  off 
and  give  it  to  the  chief. 

"Hold!"  said  he,  "let  it  go  to  Rome;  let  them  see 
what  kind  of  a  looking  fellow  I  am.  Perhaps  the  Prince 
and  his  friends  may  form  as  good  an  opinion  of  me  from 
my  face  as  you  have  done." 

This  was  said  sportively,  yet  it  was  evident  there  was 
vanity  lurking  at  the  bottom.  Even  this  wary,  distrust- 
ful chief  of  banditti  forgot  for  a  moment  his  usual  fore- 
sight and  precaution,  in  the  common  wish  to  be  admired. 
He  never  reflected  what  use  might  be  made  of  this  por- 
trait in  his  pursuit  and  conviction. 

The  letter  was  folded  and  directed,  and  the  messenger 
departed  again  for  Tusculum.     It  was  now  eleven  o'clock 


398  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLEB. 

in  the  morning,  and  as  yet  we  had  eaten  nothing.  In 
spite  of  all  my  anxiety,  I  began  to  feel  a  craving  appe- 
tite. I  was  glad  therefore  to  hear  the  captain  talk  some- 
thing about  eating.  He  observed  that  for  three  days 
and  nights  they  had  been  lurking  about  among  rocks 
and  woods,  meditating  their  expedition  to  Tusculum, 
during  which  time  all  their  provisions  had  been  ex- 
hausted. He  should  now  take  measures  to  procure  a 
supply.  Leaving  me,  therefore,  in  charge  of  his  com- 
rade, in  whom  he  appeared  to  have  implicit  confidence, 
he  departed,  assuring  me  that  in  less  than  two  hours 
I  should  make  a  good  dinner.  Where  it  was  to  come 
from  was  an  enigma  to  me,  though  it  was  evident  these 
beings  had  their  secret  friends  and  agents  throughout 
the  country. 

Indeed  the  inhabitants  of  these  mountains,  and  of  the 
valleys  which  they  embosom,  are  a  rude,  half-civilized 
set.  The  towns  and  villages  among  the  forests  of  the 
Abruzzi,  shut  up  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  are  almost 
like  savage  dens.  It  is  wonderful  that  such  rude  abodes, 
so  little  known  and  visited,  should  be  embosomed  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  the  most  travelled  and  civilized  countries 
of  Europe.  Among  these  regions  the  robber  prowls 
unmolested ;  not  a  mountaineer  hesitates  to  give  him 
secret  harbor  and  assistance.  The  shepherds,  however, 
who  tend  their  flocks  among  the  mountains,  are  the  favor- 
ite emissaries  of  the  robbers,  when  they  would  send  mes- 
sages down  to  the  valleys  either  for  ransom  or  supplies. 


TEE  PAINTER 'S  AD  VENTURE.  399 

The  shepherds  of  the  Abruzzi  are  as  wild  as  the  scenes 
they  frequent.  They  are  clad  in  a  rude  garb  of  black  or 
brown  sheepskin ;  they  have  high  conical  hats,  and 
coarse  sandals  of  cloth  bound  around  their  legs  with 
thongs,  similar  to  those  worn  by  the  robbers.  They 
carry  long  staves,  on  which,  as  they  lean,  they  form 
picturesque  objects  in  the  lonely  landscape,  and  they 
are  followed  by  their  ever-constant  companion,  the  dog. 
They  are  a  curious,  questioning  set,  glad  at  any  time  to 
relieve  the  monotony  of  their  solitude  by  the  conversa- 
tion of  the  passer-by  ;  and  the  dog  will  lend  an  attentive 
ear,  and  put  on  as  sagacious  and  inquisitive  a  look  as  his 
master. 

But  I  am  wandering  from  my  story.  I  was  now  left 
alone  with  one  of  the  robbers,  the  confidential  companion 
of  the  chief.  He  was  the  youngest  and  most  vigorous 
of  the  band ;  and  though  his  countenance  had  something 
of  that  dissolute  fierceness  which  seems  natural  to  this 
desperate,  lawless  mode  of  life,  yet  there  were  traces  of 
manly  beauty  about  it.  As  an  artist  I  could  not  but 
admire  it.  I  had  remarked  in  him  an  air  of  abstraction 
and  reverie,  and  at  times  a  movement  of  inward  suffering 
and  impatience.  He  now  sat  on  the  ground,  his  elbows 
on  his  knees,  his  head  resting  between  his  clenched  fists, 
and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  earth  with  an  expression  of 
sadness  and  bitter  rumination.  I  had  grown  familiar 
with  him  from  repeated  conversations,  and  had  found 
him  superior  in  mind  to  the  rest  of  the   band.     I  was 


400  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER 

anxious  to  seize  any  opportunity  of  sounding  tlie  feel- 
ings of  these  singular  beings.  I  fancied  I  read  in  the 
countenance  of  this  one  traces  of  self-condemnation  and 
remorse ;  and  the  ease  with  which  I  had  drawn  forth  the 
confidence  of  the  chieftain,  encouraged  me  to  hope  the 
same  with  his  follower. 

After  a  little  preliminary  conversation,  I  ventured  to 
ask  him  if  he  did  not  feel  regret  at  having  abandoned  his 
family,  and  taken  to  this  dangerous  profession.  "I  feel," 
replied  he,  "but  one  regret,  and  that  will  end  only  with 
my  life." 

As  he  said  this,  he  pressed  his  clenched  fists  upon  his 
bosom,  drew  his  breath  through  his  set  teeth,  and  added, 
with  a  deep  emotion,  "I  have  something  within  here  that 
stifles  me ;  it  is  like  a  burning  iron  consuming  my  very 
heart.  I  could  tell  you  a  miserable  story — but  not  now 
— another  time." 

He  relapsed  into  his  former  position,  and  sat  with  his 
head  between  his  hands,  muttering  to  himself  in  broken 
ejaculations,  and  what  appeared  at  times  to  be  curses  and 
maledictions.  I  saw  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  dis- 
turbed, so  I  left  him  to  himself.  In  a  little  while  the 
exhaustion  of  his  feelings,  and  probably  the  fatigues  he 
had  undergone  in  this  expedition,  began  to  produce 
drowsiness.  He  struggled  with  it  for  a  time,  but  the 
warmth  and  stillness  of  mid-day  made  it  irresistible,  and 
he  at  length  stretched  himself  upon  the  herbage  and  fell 
asleep. 


TEE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE.  401 

I  now  beheld  a  chance  of  escape  within  my  reach.  Mj 
guard  lay  before  me  at  my  mercy.  His  vigorous  limbs 
relaxed  by  sleep — his  bosom  open  for  the  blow — his  car- 
bine slipped  from  his  nerveless  grasp,  and  lying  by  his 
side — his  stiletto  half  out  of  the  pocket  in  which  it  was 
usually  carried.  Two  only  of  his  comrades  were  in  sight, 
and  those  at  a  considerable  distance  on  the  edge  of  the 
mountain,  their  backs  turned  to  us,  and  their  attention 
occupied  in  keeping  a  lookout  upon  the  plain.  Through 
a  strip  of  intervening  forest,  and  at  the  foot  of  a  steep 
descent,  I  beheld  the  village  of  Rocca  Priori.  To  have 
secured  the  carbine  of  the  sleeping  brigand;  to  have 
seized  upon  his  poniard,  and  have  plunged  it  in  his 
heart,  would  have  been  the  work  of  an  instant.  Should 
he  die  without  noise,  I  might  dart  through  the  forest, 
and  down  to  Rocca  Priori  before  my  flight  might  be  dis- 
covered. In  case  of  alarm,  I  should  still  have  a  fair  start 
of  the  robbers,  and  a  chance  of  getting  beyond  the  reach 
of  their  shot. 

Here  then  was  an  opportunity  for  both  escape  and  ven- 
geance ;  perilous  indeed,  but  powerfully  tempting.  Had 
my  situation  been  more  critical,  I  could  not  have  resisted 
it.  I  reflected,  however,  for  a  moment.  The  attempt,  if 
successful,  would  be  followed  by  the  sacrifice  of  my 
two  fellow-prisoners,  who  were  sleeping  profoundly,  and 
could  not  be  awakened  in  time  to  escape.  The  laborer 
who  had  gone  after  the  ransom  might  also  fall  a  victim  to 
the  rage  of  the  robbers,  without  the  money  which  he 


402  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER 

brought  being  saved.  Besides,  tlie  conduct  of  the  chief 
towards  me  made  me  feel  confident  of  speedy  deliverance. 
These  reflections  overcame  the  first  powerful  impulse,  and 
I  calmed  the  turbulent  agitation  which  it  had  awakened. 

I  again  took  out  mj  materials  for  drawing,  and  amused 
myself  with  sketching  the  magnificent  prospect.  It  was 
now  about  noon,  and  everything  had  sunk  into  repose, 
like  the  sleeping  bandit  before  me.  The  noontide  still- 
ness that  reigned  over  these  mountains,  the  vast  land- 
scape below  gleaming  with  distant  towns,  and  dotted 
with  various  habitations  and  signs  of  life,  yet  all  so 
silent,  had  a  powerful  effect  upon  my  mind.  The  inter- 
mediate valleys,  too,  which  lie  among  the  mountains, 
have  a  peculiar  air  of  solitude.  Few  sounds  are  heard  at 
mid-day  to  break  the  quiet  of  the  scene.  Sometimes  the 
whistle  of  a  solitary  muleteer,  lagging  with  his  lazy 
animal  along  the  road  which  winds  through  the  centre  of 
the  valley ;  sometimes  the  faint  piping  of  a  shepherd's 
reed  from  the  side  of  the  mountain,  or  sometimes  the 
bell  of  an  ass  slowly  pacing  along,  followed  by  a  monk 
with  bare  feet,  and  bare,  shining  head,  and  carrying  pro- 
visions to  his  convent. 

I  had  continued  to  sketch  for  some  time  among  my 
sleeping  companions,  when  at  length  I  saw  the  captain  of 
the  band  approaching,  followed  by  a  peasant  leading  a 
mule,  on  which  was  a  well-filled  sack.  I  at  first  appre- 
hended that  this  was  some  new  prey  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  the  robber ;  but  the  contented  look  of  the  peasant  soon 


TBE  PAINTER'S  ADVElsTURE.  403 

relieved  me,  and  I  was  rejoiced  to  hear  that  it  was  our 
promised  re^Dast.  The  brigands  now  came  running  from 
the  three  sides  of  the  mountain,  having  the  quick  scent 
of  vultures.  Every  one  busied  himself  in  unloading  the 
mule,  and  relieving  the  sack  of  its  contents. 

The  first  thing  that  made  its  appearance  was  an  enor- 
mous ham,  of  a  color  and  plumpness  that  would  have 
inspired  the  pencil  of  Teniers ;  it  was  followed  by  a  large 
cheese,  a  bag  of  boiled  chestnuts,  a  little  barrel  of  wine, 
and  a  quantity  of  good  household  bread.  Everything 
was  arranged  on  the  grass  with  a  degree  of  symmetry; 
and  the  captain,  presenting  me  with  his  knife,  requested 
me  to  help  myself.  We  all  seated  ourselves  around  the 
viands,  and  nothing  was  heard  for  a  time  but  the  sound 
of  vigorous  mastication,  or  the  gurgling  of  the  barrel  of 
wine  as  it  revolved  briskly  about  the  circle.  My  long 
fasting,  and  mountain  air  and  exercise,  had  given  me  a 
keen  appetite ;  and  never  did  repast  appear  to  me  more 
excellent  or  picturesque. 

From  time  to  time  one  of  the  band  was  dispatched  to 
keep  a  lookout  upon  the  plain.  No  enemy  was  at  hand, 
and  the  dinner  was  undisturbed.  The  peasant  received 
nearly  three  times  the  value  of  his  provisions,  and  set  off 
down  the  mountain  highly  satisfied  with  his  bargain. 
I  felt  invigorated  by  the  hearty  meal  I  had  made,  and 
notwithstanding  that  the  wound  I  had  received  the  even- 
ing before  was  painful,  yet  I  could  not  but  feel  extremely 
interested  and  gratified  by  the   singular  scenes  contin- 


404  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

uailj  presented  to  me.  Everything  was  picturesque 
about  these  wild  beings  and  their  haunts.  Their  bi- 
vouacs ;  their  groups  on  guard ;  their  indolent  noontide 
repose  on  the  mountain-brow;  their  rude  repast  on  the 
herbage  among  rocks  and  trees ;  everything  presented  a 
study  for  a  painter  :  but  it  was  towards  the  approach  of 
evening  that  I  felt  the  highest  enthusiasm  awakened. 

The  setting  sun,  declining  beyond  the  vast  Campagna, 
shed  its  rich  yellow  beams  on  the  woody  summit  of  the 
Abruzzi.  Several  mountains  crowned  with  snow  shone 
brilliantly  in  the  distance,  contrasting  their  brightness 
with  others,  which,  thrown  into  shade,  assumed  deep 
tints  of  purple  and  violet.  As  the  evening  advanced,  the 
landscape  darkened  into  a  sterner  character.  The  im- 
mense solitude  around  ;  the  wild  mountains  broken  into 
rocks  and  precipices,  intermingled  with  vast  oaks,  corks, 
and  chestnuts ;  and  the  groups  of  banditti  in  the  fore- 
ground, reminded  me  of  the  savage  scenes  of  Salvator 
Bosa. 

To  beguile  the  time,  the  captain  proposed  to  his  com- 
rades to  spread  before  me  their  jewels  and  cameos,  as 
I  must  doubtless  be  a  judge  of  such  articles,  and  able  to 
form  an  estimate  of  their  value.  He  set  the  example, 
the  others  followed  it ;  and  in  a  few  moments  I  saw  the 
grass  before  me  sparkling  with  jewels  and  gems  that 
would  have  delighted  the  eyes  of  an  antiquary  or  a  fine 
lady. 

Among  them  were  several  precious  jewels  and  antique 


THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTUME,  405 

intaglios  and  cameos  of  great  value,  the  spoils,  doubt- 
less, of  travellers  of  distinction.  I  found  that  thej  were 
in  the  habit  of  selling  their  booty  in  the  frontier  towns  ; 
but  as  these,  in  general,  were  thinly  and  poorly  peopled, 
and  little  frequented  by  travellers,  they  could  offer  no 
market  for  such  valuable  articles  of  taste  and  luxury.  I 
suggested  to  them  the  certainty  of  their  readily  obtain- 
ing great  prices  for  these  gems  among  the  rich  strangers 
with  whom  Eome  was  thronged. 

The  impression  made  upon  their  greedy  minds  was 
immediately  apparent.  One  of  the  band,  a  young  man, 
and  the  least  known,  requested  permission  of  the  captain 
to  depart  the  following  day,  in  disguise,  for  Eome,  for 
the  purpose  of  traffic,  promising,  on  the  faith  of  a  bandit, 
(a  sacred  pledge  among  them),  to  return  in  two  days  to 
any  place  that  he  might  appoint.  The  captain  consented, 
and  a  curious  scene  took  place  ;  the  robbers  crowded 
round  him  eagerly,  confiding  to  him  such  of  their  jewels 
as  they  wished  to  dispose  of,  and  giving  him  instruc- 
tions what  to  demand.  There  was  much  bargaining  and 
exchanging  and  selling  of  trinkets  among  them  ;  and  I 
behold  my  watch,  which  had  a  chain  and  valuable  seals, 
purchased  by  the  young  robber-merchant  of  the  ruffian 
who  had  plundered  me,  for  sixty  dollars.  I  now  con- 
ceived a  faint  hope,  that  if  it  went  to  Eome,  I  might 
somehow  or  other  regain  possession  of  it.* 

*  The  hopes  of  the  artist  were  not  disappointed :    the  robber  was 
•topped  at  one  of  the  gates  of  Rome.     Something  in  his  looks  or  deport- 


406  TALES  OF  A  TEA  TELLER. 

In  the  meantime  day  declined,  and  no  messenger  re- 
turned from  Tusculum.  The  idea  of  passing  another 
night  in  the  woods  was  extremely  disheartening,  for  I 
began  to  be  satisfied  with  what  I  had  seen  of  robber-life. 
The  chieftain  now  ordered  his  men  to  follow  him,  that  he 
might  station  them  at  their  posts;  adding,  that,  if  the 
messenger  did  not  return  before  night,  they  must  shift 
their  quarters  to  some  other  place. 

I  was  again  left  alone  with  the  young  bandit  who  had 
before  guarded  me ;  he  had  the  same  gloomy  air  and  hag- 
gard eye,  with  now  and  then  a  bitter  sardonic  smile.  I 
determined  to  probe  this  ulcerated  heart,  and  reminded 
him  of  a  kind  promise  he  had  given  me  to  tell  me  the 
cause  of  his  suffering.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  these 
troubled  spirits  were  glad  of  any  opportunity  to  disbur- 
den themselves,  and  of  having  some  fresh,  undiseased 
mind,  with  which  they  could  communicate.  I  had  hardly 
made  the  request,  when  he  seated  himself  by  my  side, 
and  gave  me  his  story  in,  as  near  as  I  can  recollect,  the 
following  words. 

merit  had  excited  suspicion.  He  was  searched,  and  the  valuable  trinkets 
found  on  him  sufficiently  evinced  his  character.  On  applying  to  the 
police,  the  artist's  watch  was  returned  to  him. 


THE   STORY  OP  THE  YOUNG  EOBBER 

WAS  born  in  the  little  town  of  Frosinone, 
which  lies  at  the  skirts  of  the  Abruzzi.  My 
father  had  made  a  little  property  in  trade,  and 
gave  me  some  education,  as  he  intended  me  for  the 
Church ;  but  I  had  kept  gay  company  too  much  to 
relish  the  cowl,  so  I  grew  up  a  loiterer  about  the  place. 
I  was  a  heedless  fellow,  a  little  quarrelsome  on  occasion, 
but  good-humored  in  the  main  ;  so  I  made  my  way  very 
well  for  a  time,  until  I  fell  in  love.  There  lived  in  our 
town  a  surveyor  or  land-bailiff  of  the  Prince,  who  had  a 
young  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl  of  sixteen ;  she  was 
looked  upon  as  something  better  than  the  common  run 
of  our  townsfolk,  and  was  kept  almost  entirely  at  home. 
I  saw  her  occasionally,  and  became  madly  in  love  with 
her — she  looked  so  fresh  and  tender,  and  so  different 
from  the  sunburnt  females  to  whom  I  had  been  accus- 
tomed. 

As  my  father  kept  me  in  money,  I  always  dressed  well, 
and  took  all  opportunities  of  showing  myself  off  to  advan- 
tage in  the  eyes  of  the  little  beauty.  I  used  to  see  her 
at  church ;  and  as  I  could  play  a  little  upon  the  guitar, 

407 


408  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

I  gave  a  tune  sometimes  under  her  window  of  an  even- 
ing ;  and  I  tried  to  have  interviews  with  her  in  her 
father's  vineyard,  not  far  from  the  town,  where  she 
sometimes  walked.  She  was  evidently  pleased  with  me, 
but  she  was  young  and  shy  ;  and  her  father  kept  a  strict 
eye  upon  her,  and  took  alarm  at  my  attentions,  for  he 
had  a  bad  opinion  of  me,  and  looked  for  a  better  match 
for  his  daughter.  I  became  furious  at  the  difficulties 
thrown  in  my  way,  having  been  accustomed  always  to 
easy  success  among  the  women,  being  considered  one  of 
the  smartest  young  fellows  of  the  place. 

Her  father  brought  home  a  suitor  for  her, — a  rich 
farmer  from  a  neighboring  town.  The  wedding-day  was 
appointed,  and  preparations  were  making.  I  got  sight 
of  her  at  the  window,  and  I  thought  she  looked  sadly  at 
me.  I  determined  the  match  should  not  take  place,  cost 
what  it  might.  I  met  her  intended  bridegroom  in  the 
market-place,  and  could  not  restrain  the  expression  of 
my  rage.  A  few  hot  words  passed  between  us,  when  I 
drew  my  stiletto  and  stabbed  him  to  the  heart.  I  fled  to 
a  neighboring  church  for  refuge,  and  with  a  little  money 
I  obtained  absolution,  but  I  did  not  dare  to  venture 
from  my  asylum. 

At  that  time  our  captain  was  forming  his  troop.  He 
had  known  me  from  boyhood  ;  and  hearing  of  my  situa- 
tion, came  to  me  in  secret,  and  made  such  offers,  that  I 
agreed  to  enroll  myself  among  his  followers.  Indeed,  I 
had  more  than  once  thought  of  taking  to  this  mode  of 


TEE  YOUNQ  ROBBER.  409 

life,  haying  known  several  brave  fellows  of  tlie  moun- 
tains, who  used  to  spend  their  money  freely  among  us 
youngsters  of  the  town.  I  accordingly  left  my  asylum 
late  one  night,  repaired  to  the  appointed  place  of  meet- 
ing, took  the  oaths  prescribed,  and  became  one  of 
the  troop.  We  were  for  some  time  in  a  distant  part  of 
the  mountains,  and  our  wild  adventurous  kind  of  life  hit 
my  fancy  wonderfully,  and  diverted  my  thoughts.  At 
length  they  returned  with  all  their  violence  to  the  recol- 
lection of  Eosetta ;  the  solitude  in  which  I  often  found 
myself  gave  me  time  to  brood  over  her  image ;  and,  as  I 
have  kept  watch  at  night  over  our  sleeping  camp  in  the 
mountains,  my  feelings  have  been  aroused  almost  to  a 
fever. 

At  length  we  shifted  our  ground,  and  determined  to 
make  a  descent  upon  the  road  between  Terracina  and 
Naples.  In  the  course  of  our  expedition  we  passed  a  day 
or  two  in  the  woody  mountains  which  rise  above  Frosi- 
none.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  felt  when  I  looked  down 
upon  that  place,  and  distinguished  the  residence  of  Eo- 
setta. I  determined  to  have  an  interview  with  her ; — but 
to  what  purpose  ?  I  could  not  expect  that  she  would 
quit  her  home,  and  accompany  me  in  my  hazardous  life 
among  the  mountains.  She  had  been  brought  up  too 
tenderly  for  that ;  when  I  looked  upon  the  women  who 
were  associated  with  some  of  our  troop,  I  could  not  have 
borne  the  thoughts  of  her  being  their  companion.  All 
return   to  my  former   life  was   likewise   hopeless,  for  a 


410  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

price  was  set  upon  my  head.  Still  I  determined  to  see 
her;  the  very  hazard  and  fruitlessness  of  the  thing  made 
me  furious  to  accomplish  it. 

About  three  weeks  since,  I  persuaded  our  captain  to 
draw  down  to  the  vicinity  of  Frosinone,  suggesting  the 
chance  of  entrapping  some  of  its  principal  inhabitants, 
and  compelling  them  to  a  ransom.  We  were  lying  in 
ambush  towards  evening,  not  far  from  the  vineyard  of 
Rosetta's  father.  I  stole  quietly  from  my  companions, 
and  drew  near  to  reconnoitre  the  place  of  her  frequent 
walks.  How  my  heart  beat  when  among  the  vines  I  be- 
held the  gleaming  of  a  white  dress  !  I  knew  it  must  be 
Rosetta's  ;  it  being  rare  for  any  female  of  that  place  to 
dress  in  white.  I  advanced  secretly  and  without  noise, 
until,  putting  aside  the  vines,  I  stood  suddenly  before 
her.  She  uttered  a  piercing  shriek,  but  I  seized  her  in 
my  arms,  put  my  hand  upon  her  mouth,  and  conjured  her 
to  be  silent.  I  poured  out  all  the  frenzy  of  my  passion  ; 
offered  to  renounce  my  mode  of  life ;  to  put  my  fate  in 
her  hands  ;  to  fly  where  we  might  live  in  safety  together. 
All  that  I  could  say  or  do  would  not  pacify  her.  Instead 
of  love,  horror  and  affright  seemed  to  have  taken  posses- 
sion of  her  breast.  She  struggled  partly  from  my  grasp, 
and  filled  the  air  with  her  cries. 

In  an  instant  the  captain  and  the  rest  of  my  com- 
panions were  around  us.  I  would  have  given  anything 
at  that  moment  had  she  been  safe  out  of  our  hands,  and 
in  her  father's  house.     It  was  too  late.    The  captain  pro- 


THE  YOUNG  BOBBER.  411 

nounced  her  a  prize,  and  ordered  that  she  should  be 
borne  to  the  mountains.  I  represented  to  him  that  she 
was  my  prize  ;  that  I  had  a  previous  claim  to  her ;  and  I 
mentioned  mj  former  attachment.  He  sneered  bitterly 
in  reply;  observed  that  brigands  had  no  business  with 
village  intrigues,  and  that,  according  to  the  laws  of  the 
troop,  all  spoils  of  the  kind  were  determined  by  lot. 
Love  and  jealousy  were  raging  in  my  heart,  but  I  had  to 
choose  between  obedience  and  death.  I  surrendered  her 
to  the  captain,  and  we  made  for  the  mountains. 

She  was  overcome  by  affright,  and  her  steps  were  so 
feeble  and  faltering  that  it  was  necessary  to  support  her, 
I  could  not  endure  the  idea  that  my  comrades  should 
touch  her,  and  assuming  a  forced  tranquillity,  begged  she 
might  be  confided  to  me,  as  one  to  whom  she  was  more 
accustomed.  The  captain  regarded  me,  for  a  moment, 
with  a  searching  look,  but  I  bore  it  without  flinching,  and 
he  consented.  I  took  her  in  my  arms,  she  was  almost 
senseless.  Her  head  rested  on  my  shoulder ;  I  felt  her 
breath  on  my  face,  and  it  seemed  to  fan  the  flame  which 
devoured  me.  Oh  God !  to  have  this  glowing  treasure  in 
my  arms,  and  yet  to  think  it  was  not  mine  ! 

We  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain ;  I  ascended  it 
with  difficulty,  particularly  where  the  woods  were  thick, 
but  I  would  not  relinquish  my  delicious  burden.  I  re- 
flected with  rage,  however,  that  I  must  soon  do  so.  The 
thoughts  that  so  delicate  a  creature  must  be  abandoned 
to  my  rude  companions  maddened  me.     I  felt  tempted, 


412  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

the  stiletto  in  my  hand,  to  cut  my  way  through  them  all, 
and  bear  her  off  in  triumph.  I  scarcely  conceived  the 
idea  before  I  saw  its  rashness ;  but  my  brain  was  fevered 
with  the  thought  that  any  but  myself  should  enjoy  her 
charms.  I  endeavored  to  outstrip  my  companions  by  the 
quickness  of  my  movements,  and  to  get  a  little  distance 
ahead,  in  case  any  favorable  opportunity  of  escape  should 
present.  Vain  effort !  The  voice  of  the  captain  sud- 
denly ordered  a  halt.  I  trembled,  but  had  to  obey.  The 
poor  girl  partly  opened  a  languid  eye,  but  was  without 
strength  or  motion.  I  laid  her  upon  the  grass.  The 
captain  darted  on  me  a  terrible  look  of  suspicion,  and 
ordered  me  to  scour  the  woods  with  my  companions  in 
search  of  some  shepherd,  who  might  be  sent  to  her 
father's  to  demand  a  ransom. 

I  saw  at  once  the  peril.  To  resist  with  violence  was 
certain  death,  but  to  leave  her  alone,  in  the  power  of  the 
captain — I  spoke  out  then  with  a  fervor,  inspired  by  my 
passion  and  by  despair.  I  reminded  the  captain  that  I 
was  the  first  to  seize  her ;  that  she  was  my  prize ;  and 
that  my  previous  attachment  to  her  ought  to  make  her 
sacred  among  my  companions.  I  insisted,  therefore,  that 
he  should  pledge  me  his  word  to  respect  her,  otherwise  I 
would  refuse  obedience  to  his  orders.  His  only  reply 
was  to  cock  his  carbine,  and  at  the  signal  my  comrades 
did  the  same.  They  laughed  with  cruelty  at  my  impo- 
tent rage.  What  could  I  do  ?  I  felt  the  madness  of  re- 
sistance.    I  was  menaced  on  all  hands,  and  my  compan- 


THE  TO  UNO  ROBBER  413 

ions  obliged  me  to  follow  tliem.  Slie  remained  alone 
with  the  chief — yes,  alone — and  almost  lifeless  ! — 

Here  the  robber  paused  in  his  recital,  overpowered 
bj  his  emotions.  Great  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his 
forehead ;  he  panted  rather  than  breathed ;  his  brawny 
bosom  rose  and  fell  like  the  waves  of  the  troubled  sea. 
When  he  had  become  a  little  calm,  he  continued  his  re- 
cital. 

I  was  not  long  in  finding  a  shepherd,  said  he.  I  ran 
with  the  rapidity  of  a  deer,  eager,  if  possible,  to  get  back 
before  what  I  dreaded  might  take  place.  I  had  left 
my  companions  far  behind,  and  I  rejoined  them  before 
they  had  reached  one  half  the  distance  I  had  made.  I 
hurried  them  back  to  the  place  where  we  had  left  the 
captain.  As  we  approached,  I  beheld  him  seated  by  the 
side  of  Rosetta.  His  triumphant  look,  and  the  desolate 
condition  of  the  unfortunate  girl,  left  me  no  doubt  of  her 
fate.     I  know  not  how  I  restrained  my  fury. 

It  was  with  extreme  difficulty,  and  by  guiding  her 
hand,  that  she  was  made  to  trace  a  few  characters,  re- 
questing her  father  to  send  three  hundred  dollars  as  her 
ransom.  The  letter  was  dispatched  by  the  shepherd. 
When  he  was  gone,  the  chief  turned  sternly  to  me, 
"You  have  set  an  example,"  said  he,  "of  mutiny  and 
self-will,  which,  if  indulged,  would  be  ruinous  to  the 
troop.  Had  I  treated  you  as  our  laws  require,  this  bul- 
let would  have  been  driven  through  your  brain.  But 
you  are  an  old  friend.     I  have  borne  patiently  with  youi 


^14  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

fury  and  your  folly.  I  have  even  protected  yon  from  a 
foolish  passion  that  would  have  unmanned  you.  As  to 
this  girl,  the  laws  of  our  association  must  have  their 
course."  So  saying,  he  gave  his  commands :  lots  were 
drawn,  and  the  helpless  girl  was  abandoned  to  the 
troop. 

Here  the  robber  paused  again,  panting  with  fury,  and 
it  was  some  moments  before  he  could  resume  his  story. 

Hell,  said  he,  was  raging  in  my  heart.  I  beheld  the 
impossibility  of  avenging  myself;  and  I  felt  that,  ac- 
cording to  the  articles  in  which  we  stood  bound  to  one 
another,  the  captain  was  in  the  right.  I  rushed  with 
frenzy  from  the  place ;  I  threw  myself  upon  the  earth ; 
tore  up  the  grass  with  my  hands ;  and  beat  my  head  and 
gnashed  my  teeth  in  agony  and  rage.  When  at  length  I 
returned,  I  beheld  the  wretched  victim,  pale,  dishevelled, 
her  dress  torn  and  disordered.  An  emotion  of  pity,  for 
a  moment,  subdued  my  fiercer  feelings.  I  bore  her  to 
the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  leaned  her  gently  against  it.  I 
took  my  gourd,  which  was  filled  with  wine,  and  applying 
it  to  her  lips,  endeavored  to  make  her  swallow  a  little. 
To  what  a  condition  was  she  reduced !  she,  whom  I  had 
once  seen  the  pride  of  Frosinone,  whom  but  a  short  time 
before  I  had  beheld  sporting  in  her  father's  vineyard, 
so  fresh,  and  beautiful,  and  happy!  Her  teeth  were 
clenched;  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground;  her  form  with- 
out motion,  and  in  a  state  of  absolute  insensibility.  I 
hung  over  her  in  an  agony  of  recollection  at  all  that  she 


THE  YOUNG  BOBBER.  4l5 

had  been,  and  of  anguish  of  what  I  now  beheld  her.  I 
darted  around  a  look  of  horror  at  my  companions,  who 
seemed  like  so  many  fiends  exulting  in  the  downfall  of 
an  angel ;  and  I  felt  a  horror  at  being  myself  their  ac- 
complice. 

The  captain,  always  suspicious,  saw,  with  his  usual 
penetration,  what  was  passing  within  me,  and  ordered 
me  to  go  upon  the  ridge  of  the  woods,  to  keep  a  look- 
out over  the  neighborhood,  and  await  the  return  of  the 
shepherd.  I  obeyed,  of  course,  stifling  the  fury  that 
raged  within  me,  though  I  felt,  for  the  moment,  that  he 
was  my  most  deadly  foe. 

On  my  way,  however,  a  ray  of  reflection  came  across 
my  mind.  I  perceived  that  the  captain  was  but  follow- 
ing, with  strictness,  the  terrible  laws  to  which  we  had 
sworn  fidelity;  that  the  passion  by  which  I  had  been 
blinded  might,  with  justice,  have  been  fatal  to  me,  but 
for  his  forbearance ;  that  he  had  penetrated  my  soul,  and 
had  taken  precautions,  by  sending  me  out  of  the  way,  to 
prevent  my  committing  any  excess  in  my  anger.  From 
that  instant  I  felt  that  I  was  capable  of  pardoning  him. 

Occupied  with  these  thoughts,  I  arrived  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain.  The  country  was  solitary  and  secure,  and 
in  a  short  time  I  beheld  the  shepherd  at  a  distance 
crossing  the  plain.  I  hastened  to  meet  him.  He  had 
obtained  nothing.  He  had  found  the  father  plunged  in 
the  deepest  distress.  He  had  read  the  letter  with  violent 
emotion,  and  then,  calming  himself  with  a  sudden  exer- 


416  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

tion,  he  had  replied  coldly :  *'  My  daughter  has  been  dis- 
honored by  those  wretches ;  let  her  be  returned  without 
ransom, — or  let  her  die! " 

I  shuddered  at  this  reply.  I  knew  that,  according  to 
the  laws  of  our  troop,  her  death  was  inevitable.  Our 
oaths  required  it.  I  felt,  nevertheless,  that,  not  having 
been  able  to  have  her  to  myself,  I  could  be  her  execu- 
tioner ! 

The  robber  again  paused  with  agitation.  I  sat  musing 
upon  his  last  frightful  words,  which  proved  to  what 
excess  the  passions  may  be  carried  when  escaped  from 
all  moral  restraint.  There  was  a  horrible  verity  in  thie 
story  that  reminded  me  of  some  of  the  tragic-  fictions  of 
Dante. 

"We  now  come  to  a  fatal  moment,  resumed  the  bandit. 
After  the  report  of  the  shepherd,  I  returned  with  him, 
and  the  chieftain  received  from  his  lips  the  refusal  of  her 
father.  At  a  signal  which  we  all  understood,  we  followed 
him  to  some  distance  from  the  victim.  He  there  pro- 
nounced her  sentence  of  death.  Every  one  stood  ready 
to  execute  his  orders,  but  I  interfered.  I  observed  that 
there  was  something  due  to  pity  as  well  as  to  jus- 
tice ;  that  I  was  as  ready  as  any  one  to  approve  the  im- 
placable law,  which  was  to  serve  as  a  warning  to  all 
those  who  hesitated  to  pay  the  ransoms  demanded  for 
our  prisoners;  but  that  though  the  sacrifice  was  proper, 
it  ought  to  be  made  without  cruelty.  '  The  night  is  ap- 
proaching,' continued  I;  *she  will  soon  be  wrapped  in 


THE  PAINTER  '8  AD  VENTURE.  417 

sleep;  let  her  then  be  dispatched.  All  I  now  claim  on 
the  score  of  former  kindness  is,  let  me  strike  the  blow.  I 
will  do  it  as  surelj,  though  more  tenderly  than  another.' 
Several  raised  their  voices  against  my  proposition,  but 
the  captain  imposed  silence  on  them.  He  told  me  I 
might  conduct  her  into  a  thicket-  at  some  distance,  and 
he  relied  upon  my  promise. 

I  hastened  to  seize  upon  my  prey.  There  was  a  forlorn 
kind  of  triumph  at  having  at  length  become  her  exclusive 
possessor.  I  bore  her  off  into  the  thickness  of  the  forest. 
She  remained  in  the  same  state  of  insensibility  or  stupor. 
I  was  thankful  that  she  did  not  recollect  me,  for  had  she 
once  murmured  my  name,  I  should  have  been  overcome. 
She  slept  at  length  in  the  arms  of  him  who  was  to 
poniard  her.  Many  were  the  conflicts  I  underwent  before 
I  could  bring  myself  to  strike  the  blow.  But  my  heart 
had  become  sore  by  the  recent  conflicts  it  had  under- 
gone, and  I  dreaded  lest,  by  procrastination,  some  other 
should  become  her  executioner.  When  her  repose  had 
continued  for  some  time,  I  separated  myself  gently  from 
her,  that  I  might  not  disturb  her  sleep,  and  seizing  sud- 
denly my  poniard,  plunged  it  into  her  bosom.  A  painful 
and  concentrated  murmur,  but  without  any  convulsive 
movement,  accompanied  her  last  sigh. — So  perished  this 
unfortunate ! 

He  ceased  to  speak.     I  sat,  horror-struck,  covering  my 
face  with   my   hands,  seeking,  as   it  were,  to  hide  from 
27 


118  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

myself  the  frightful  images  he  had  presented  to  my 
mind.  I  was  roused  from  this  silence  by  the  voice  of 
the  captain  :  '*  You  sleep,"  said  he,  "  and  it  is  time  to  be 
off.  Come,  we  must  abandon  this  height,  as  night  is 
setting  in,  and  the  messenger  is  not  returned.  I  will 
post  some  one  on  the  mountain  edge  to  conduct  him  to 
the  place  where  we  shall  pass  the  night." 

This  was  no  agreeable  news  to  me.  I  was  sick  at 
heart  with  the  dismal  story  I  had  heard.  I  was  ha- 
rassed and  fatigued,  and  the  sight  of  the  banditti  began 
to  grow  insupportable  to  me. 

The  captain  assembled  his  comrades.  We  rapidly 
descended  the  forest,  which  we  had  mounted  with  so 
much  difficulty  in  the  morning,  and  soon  arrived  in  what 
appeared  to  be  a  frequented  road.  The  robbers  pro- 
ceeded with  great  caution,  carrying  their  guns  cocked, 
and  looking  on  every  side  with  wary  and  suspicious 
eyes.  They  were  apprehensive  of  encountering  the  civic 
patrole.  We  left  Eocca  Priori  behind  us.  There  was  a 
fountain  near  by,  and  as  I  was  excessively  thirsty,  I 
begged  permission  to  stop  and  drink.  The  captain  him- 
self went  and  brought  me  water  in  his  hat.  We  pursued 
our  route,  when,  at  the  extremity  of  an  alley  which 
crossed  the  road,  I  perceived  a  female  on  horseback, 
dressed  in  white.  She  was  alone.  I  recollected  the  fate 
of  the  poor  girl  in  the  story,  and  trembled  for  her 
safety. 

One  of  the  brigands  saw  her  at  the  same  instant,  and 


THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE.  419 

plunging  into  the  bushes,  lie  ran  precipitately  in  the 
direction  towards  her.  Stopping  on  the  border  of  the 
alley,  he  put  one  knee  to  the  ground,  presented  his  car- 
bine ready  to  menace  her,  or  to  shoot  her  horse  if  she 
attempted  to  fly,  and  in  this  way  awaited  her  approach. 
I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  her  with  intense  anxiety.  I  felt 
tempted  to  shout  and  warn  her  of  her  danger,  though  my 
own  destruction  would  have  been  the  consequence.  It 
was  awful  to  see  this  tiger  crouching  ready  for  a  bound, 
and  the  poor  innocent  victim  unconsciously  near  him. 
Nothing  but  a  mere  chance  could  save  her.  To  my  joy 
the  chance  turned  in  her  favor.  She  seemed  almost  acci- 
dentally to  take  an  opposite  path,  which  led  outside  of 
the  woods,  where  the  robber  dared  not  venture.  To  this 
casual  deviation  she  owed  her  safety. 

I  could  not  imagine  why  the  captain  of  the  band  had 
ventured  to  such  a  distance  from  the  height  on  which  he 
had  placed  the  sentinel  to  watch  the  return  of  the  mes- 
senger. He  seemed  himself  anxious  at  the  risk  to  which 
he  exposed  himself.  His  movements  were  rapid  and  un- 
easy ;  I  could  scarce  keep  pace  with  him.  At  length,  after 
three  hours  of  what  might  be  termed  a  forced  march,  we 
mounted  the  extremity  of  the  same  woods,  the  summit 
of  which  we  had  occupied  during  the  day ;  and  I  learnt 
with  satisfaction  that  we  had  reached  our  quarters  for 
the  night.  "  You  must  be  fatigued,"  said  the  chieftain  ; 
"  but  it  was  necessary  to  survey  the  environs  so  as  not  to 
be  surprised  during  the  night.     Had  we  met  with  the 


420  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

famous  civic  guard  of  Rocca  Priori,  you  would  Have  seen 
fine  sport."     Such  was  the  indefatigable  precaution  and 
forethought  of  this  robber   chief,  who  really  gave  con 
tinual  evidence  of  military  talent. 

The  night  was  magnificent.  The  moon,  rising  above 
the  horizon  in  a  cloudless  sky,  faintly  lit  up  the  grand 
features  of  the  mountain,  while  lights  twinkling  here  and 
there,  like  terrestrial  stars  in  the  wide  dusky  expanse  of 
the  landscape,  betrayed  the  lonely  cabins  of  the  shep- 
herds. Exhausted  by  fatigue,  and  by  the  many  agita- 
tions I  had  experienced,  I  prepared  to  sleep,  soothed  by 
the  hope  of  approaching  deliverance.  The  captain  or- 
dered his  companions  to  collect  some  dry  moss  ;  he  ar- 
ranged with  his  own  hands  a  kind  of  mattress  and  pillow 
of  it,  and  gave  me  his  ample  mantle  as  a  covering.  I 
could  not  but  feel  both  surprised  and  gratified  by  such 
unexpected  attentions  on  the  part  of  this  benevolent  cut- 
throat ;  for  there  is  nothing  more  striking  than  to  find 
the  ordinary  charities,  which  are  matters  of  course  in 
common  life,  flourishing  by  the  side  of  such  stern  and 
sterile  crime.  It  is  like  finding  tender  flowers  and  fresh 
herbage  of  the  valley  growing  among  the  rocks  and  cin- 
ders of  the  volcano. 

Before  I  fell  asleep  I  had  some  further  discourse  with 
the  captain,  w^ho  seemed  to  feel  great  confidence  in  me. 
He  referred  to  our  previous  conversation  of  the  morning  ; 
told  me  he  was  weary  of  his  hazardous  profession ;  that 
he  had  acquired  sufficient  property,  and  was  anxious  to 


THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE.  421 

return  to  the  world,  and  lead  a  peaceful  life  in  the  bosom 
of  his  family.  He  wished  to  know  whether  it  was  not  in 
my  power  to  procure  for  him  a  passport  to  the  United 
States  of  America.  I  applauded  his  good  intentions,  and 
promised  to  do  everything  in  my  power  to  promote  its 
success.  We  then  parted  for  the  night.  I  stretched  my- 
self upon  my  couch  of  moss,  which,  after  my  fatigues,  felt 
like  a  bed  of  down ;  and,  sheltered  by  the  robber-mantle 
from  all  humidity,  I  slept  soundly,  without  waking,  un- 
til the  signal  to  arise. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock,  and  the  day  was  just  dawn- 
ing. As  the  place  where  we  had  passed  the  night  was 
too  much  exposed,  we  moved  up  into  the  thickness  of  the 
woods.  A  fire  was  kindled.  While  there  was  any  flame, 
the  mantles  were  again  extended  round  it;  but  when 
nothing  remained  but  glowing  cinders,  they  were  low- 
ered, and  the  robbers  seated  themselves  in  a  circle. 

The  scene  before  me  reminded  me  of  some  of  those  de- 
scribed by  Homer.  There  wanted  only  the  victim  on  the 
coals,  and  the  sacred  knife  to  cut  off  the  succulent  parts, 
and  distribute  them  around.  My  companions  might  have 
rivalled  the  grim  warriors  of  Greece.  In  place  of  the 
noble  repasts,  however,  of  Achilles  and  Agamemnon,  I 
beheld  displayed  on  the  grass  the  remains  of  the  ham 
which  had  sustained  so  vigorous  an  attack  on  the  pre- 
ceding evening,  accompanied  by  the  relics  of  the  bread, 
cheese,  and  wine.  We  had  scarcely  commenced  our 
frugal  breakfast,  when  I  heard  again  an  imitation  of  the 


422  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

bleating  of  sheep,  similar  to  what  I  had  heard  the  day 
before.  The  captain  answered  it  in  the  same  tone.  Two 
men  were  soon  after  seen  descending  from  the  woody 
height,  where  we  had  passed  the  preceding  evening.  On 
nearer  approach,  they  proved  to  be  the  sentinel  and  the 
messenger.  The  captain  rose,  and  went  to  meet  them. 
He  made  a  signal  for  his  comrades  to  join  him.  They 
had  a  short  conference,  and  then  returning  to  me  with 
great  eagerness,  "Your  ransom  is  paid,"  said  he,  "you 
are  free ! " 

Though  I  had  anticipated  deliverance,  I  cannot  tell  you 
what  a  rush  of  delight  these  tidings  gave  me.  I  cared 
not  to  finish  my  repast,  but  prepared  to  depart.  The 
captain  took  me  by  the  hand,  requested  permission  to 
write  to  me,  and  begged  me  not  to  forget  the  passport.  I 
replied,  that  I  hoped  to  be  of  effectual  service  to  him, 
and  that  I  relied  on  his  honor  to  return  the  Prince's  note 
for  ^\Q  hundred  dollars,  now  that  the  cash  was  paid.  He 
regarded  me  for  a  moment  with  surprise,  then  seeming  to 
recollect  himself,  "  E  giustoj^  said  he,  "  eccoto — adio  .'  "  * 
He  delivered  me  the  note,  pressed  my  hand  once  more, 
and  we  separated.  The  laborers  were  permitted  to  fol- 
low me,  and  we  resumed  with  joy  our  road  toward  Tus- 
culum. 

The  Frenchman  ceased  to  speak.    The  party  continued, 
*  It  is  just — there  it  is — adieu  I 


THE  INN  AT  TEBRACINA.  423 

for  a  few  moments,  to  pace  the  shore  in  silence.  The 
story  had  made  a  deep  impression,  particularly  on  the 
Venetian  lady.  At  that  part  which  related  to  the  young 
girl  of  Frosinone,  she  was  violently  affected.  Sobs  broke 
from  her ;  she  clung  closer  to  her  husband,  and  as  she 
looked  up  to  him  as  if  for  protection,  the  moonbeams 
shining  on  her  beautifully  fair  countenance,  showed  it 
paler  than  usual,  while  tears  glittered  in  her  fine  dark 
eyes. 

"  Corragio,  mia  vita  !  "  said  he,  as  he  gently  and  fondly 
tapped  the  white  hand  that  lay  upon  his  arm. 

The  party  now  returned  to  the  inn,  and  separated  for 
the  night.  The  fair  Venetian,  though  of  the  sweetest 
temperament,  was  half  out  of  humor  with  the  English- 
man, for  a  certain  slowness  of  faith  which  he  had  evinced 
throughout  the  whole  evening.  She  could  not  under- 
stand this  dislike  to  "humbug,"  as  he  termed  it,  which 
held  a  kind  of  sway  over  him,  and  seemed  to  control  his 
opinions  and  his  very  actions. 

"I'll  warrant,"  said  she  to  her  husband,  as  they  re- 
tired for  the  night, — "  I'll  warrant,  with  all  his  affected 
indifference,  this  Englishman's  heart  would  quake  at  the 
very  sight  of  a  bandit." 

Her  husband  gently,  and  good-humoredly,  checked 
her. 

"I  have  no  patience  with  these  Englishmen,"  said  she, 
as  she  got  into  bed, — "  they  are  so  cold  and  insensible  I " 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  ENGLISHMAN. 

N  the  morning  all  was  bustle  in  the  inn  at  Ter- 
racina.  The  procaccio  had  departed  at  day- 
break on  its  route  towards  Rome,  but  the 
Englishman  was  yet  to  start,  and  the  departure  of  an 
English  equipage  is  always  enough  to  keep  an  inn  in  a 
bustle.  On  this  occasion  there  was  more  than  usual 
stir,  for  the  Englishman,  having  much  property  about 
him,  and  having  been  convinced  of  the  real  danger  of  the 
road,  had  applied  to  the  police,  and  obtained,  by  dint  of 
liberal  pay,  an  escort  of  eight  dragoons  and  twelve  foot- 
soldiers,  as  far  as  Fondi. 

Perhaps,  too,  there  might  have  been  a  little  ostenta- 
tion at  bottom,  though,  to  say  the  truth,  he  had  noth- 
ing of  it  in  his  manner.  He  moved  about,  taciturn  and 
reserved  as  usual,  among  the  gaping  crowd ;  gave  laconic 
orders  to  John,  as  he  packed  away  the  thousand  and  one 
indispensable  conveniences  of  the  night;  double  loaded 
his  pistols  with  great  sang  froid,  and  deposited  them  in 
the  pockets  of  the  carriage  ;  taking  no  notice  of  a  pair  of 
keen  eyes  gazing  on  him  from  among  the  herd  of  loiter- 
ing idlers. 

424 


THE  ENGLISHMAN'S  ADVENIURE.  425 

The  fair  Venetian  now  came  up  with  a  request,  made 
in  her  dulcet  tones,  that  he  would  permit  their  carriage 
to  proceed  under  protection  of  his  escort.  The  English- 
man, who  was  busy  loading  another  pair  of  pistols  for 
his  servant,  and  held  the  ramrod  between  his  teeth, 
nodded  assent,  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  without  lift- 
ing up  his  eyes.  The  fair  Venetian  was  a  little  piqued 
at  what  she  supposed  indifference  : — "  O  Dio  !  "  ejacu- 
lated she  softly  as  she  retired  ;  "  Quanto  sono  insensibili 
questi  Inglesi." 

At  length,  off  they  set  in  gallant  style.  The  eight  dra- 
goons prancing  in  front,  the  twelve  foot-soldiers  march- 
ing in  rear,  and  the  carriage  moving  slowly  in  the  centre, 
to  enable  the  infantry  to  keep  pace  with  them.  They 
had  proceeded  but  a  few  hundred  yards,  when  it  was 
discovered  that  some  indispensable  article  had  been 
left  behind.  In  fact,  the  Englishman's  purse  was  miss- 
ing, and  John  was  dispatched  to  the  inn  to  search  for 
it.  This  occasioned  a  little  delay,  and  the  carriage 
of  the  Venetians  drove  slowly  on.  John  came  back 
out  of  breath  and  out  of  humor.  The  purse  was  not 
to  be  found.  His  master  was  irritated ;  he  recollect- 
ed the  very  })lace  where  it  lay ;  he  had  not  a  doubt 
the  Italian  servant  had  pocketed  it.  John  was  again 
sent  back.  He  returned  once  more  without  the  purse, 
but  with  the  landlord  and  the  whole  household  at  his 
heels.  A  thousand  ejaculations  and  protestations,  ac- 
companied by  all   sorts   of  grimaces  and  contortions — ■ 


426  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

"  No  purse  had  been  seen — his  excellenza  must  be  mis- 
taken." 

"  No — his  excellenza  was  not  mistaken — the  purse  lay 
on  the  marble  table,  under  the  mirror,  a  green  purse, 
half  full  of  gold  and  silver."  Again  a  thousand  grimaces 
and  contortions,  and  vows  by  San  Gennaro,  that  no  purse 
of  the  kind  had  been  seen. 

The  Englishman  became  furious.  "The  waiter  had 
pocketed  it — the  landlord  was  a  knave — the  inn  a  den 
of  thieves — it  was  a  vile  country — he  had  been  cheated 
and  plundered  from  one  end  of  it  to  the  other — but  he'd 
have  satisfaction — he'd  drive  right  off  to  the  police." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  ordering  the  postilions  to  turn 
back,  when,  on  rising,  he  displaced  the  cushion  of  the 
carriage,  and  the  purse  of  money  fell  chinking  to  the 
floor. 

All  the  blood  in  his  body  seemed  to  rush  into  his  face. 
— "  Curse  the  purse,"  said  he,  as  he  snatched  it  up.  He 
dashed  a  handful  of  money  on  the  ground  before  the  pale 
cringing  waiter, — "There,  be  off!"  cried  he.  "John, 
order  the  postilions  to  drive  on." 

About  half  an  hour  had  been  exhausted  in  this  alterca- 
tion. The  Venetian  carriage  had  loitered  along ;  its  pas- 
sengers looking  out  from  time  to  time,  and  expecting  the 
escort  every  moment  to  follow.  They  had  gradually 
turned  an  angle  of  the  road  that  shut  them  out  of  sight. 
The  little  army  was  again  in  motion,  and  made  a  very 
picturesque  appearance  as  it  wound  along  at  the  bottom 


THE  EKOLISHMAN'S  ADVENTURE.  427 

of  the  rocks  ;  the  morning  sunshine  beaming  upon  the 
weapons  of  the  soldiery. 

The  Englishman  lolled  back  in  his  carriage,  vexed 
with  himself  at  what  had  passed,  and  consequently  out 
of  humor  with  all  the  world.  As  this,  however,  is  no 
uncommon  case  with  gentlemen  who  travel  for  their 
pleasure,  it  is  hardly  worthy  of  remark.  They  had 
wound  up  from  the  coast  among  the  hills,  and  came  to  a 
part  of  the  road  that  admitted  of  some  prospect  ahead. 

"I  see  nothing  of  the  lady's  carriage,  sir,"  said  John, 
leaning  down  from  the  coach-box. 

*'Pish!"  said  the  Englishman,  testily;  "don't  plague 
me  about  the  lady's  carriage;  must  I  be  continually 
pestered  with  the  concerns  of  strangers?"  John  said  not 
another  word,  for  he  understood  his  master's  mood. 

The  road  grew  more  wild  and  lonely ;  they  were  slowly 
proceeding  on  a  foot-pace  up  a  hill ;  the  dragoons  were 
some  distance  ahead,  and  had  just  reached  the  summit 
of  the  hill,  when  they  uttered  an  exclamation,  or  rather 
shout,  and  galloped  forward.  The  Englishman  was 
roused  from  his  sulky  reverie.  He  stretched  his  head 
from  the  carriage,  which  had  attained  the  brow  of  the 
hill.  Before  him  extended  a  long  hollow  defile,  com- 
manded on  one  side  by  rugged  precipitous  heights, 
covered  with  bushes  of  scanty  forest.  At  some  distance 
he  beheld  the  carriage  of  the  Venetians  overturned.  A 
numerous  gang  of  desperadoes  were  rifling  it ;  the  young 
man    and    his  servant    were    overpowered,   and    partly 


428  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

stripped;  and  the  lady  was  in  the  hands  of  two  of  the 
ruffians.  The  Englishman  seized  his  pistols,  sprang  from 
the  carriage,  and  called  upon  John  to  follow  him. 

In  the  meantime,  as  the  dragoons  came  forward,  the 
robbers,  who  were  busy  with  the  carriage,  quitted  their 
spoil,  formed  themselves  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and 
taking  a  deliberate  aim,  fired.  One  of  the  dragoons  fell, 
another  was  wounded,  and  the  whole  were  for  a  moment 
checked  and  thrown  into  confusion.  The  robbers  loaded 
again  in  an  instant.  The  dragoons  discharged  their 
carbines,  bat  without  apparent  effect.  They  received 
another  volley,  which,  though  none  fell,  threw  them  again 
into  confusion.  The  robbers  were  loading  a  second  time 
when  they  saw  the  foot  -  soldiers  at  hand.  "  Scampa 
ma!^^  was  the  word:  they  abandoned  their  prey,  and 
retreated  up  the  rocks,  the  soldiers  after  them.  They 
fought  from  cliff  to  cliff,  and  bush  to  bush,  the  robbers 
turning  every  now  and  then  to  fire  upon  their  pursuers ; 
the  soldiers  scrambling  after  them,  and  discharging  their 
muskets  whenever  they  could  get  a  chance.  Sometimes  a 
soldier  or  a  robber  was  shot  down,  and  came  tumbling 
among  the  cliffs.  The  dragoons  kept  firing  from  below, 
whenever  a  robber  came  in  sight. 

The  Englishman  had  hastened  to  the  scene  of  action, 
and  the  balls  discharged  at  the  dragoons  had  whistled 
past  him  as  he  advanced.  One  object,  however,  engrossed 
his  attention.  It  was  the  beautiful  Venetian  lady  in  the 
hands  of  two  of  the  robbers,  who,  during  the  confusion  of 


THE    englishman's   ADVENTURE.      (p.  428V 


THE  ENGLISHMAN'S  ADVENTURE  429 

the  figlit,  carried  her  shrieking  up  the  mountain.  He 
saw  her  dress  gleaming  among  the  bushes,  and  he  sprang 
up  the  rocks  to  intercept  the  robbers,  as  they  bore  off 
their  prey.  The  ruggedness  of  the  steep,  and  the  entan- 
glements of  the  bushes,  delayed  and  impeded  him.  He 
lost  sight  of  the  lady,  but  was  still  guided  by  her  cries, 
which  grew  fainter  and  fainter.  They  were  off  to  the  left, 
while  the  reports  of  muskets  showed  that  the  battle  was 
raging  to  the  right.  At  length  he  came  upon  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  rugged  foot-path,  faintly  worn  in  a  gulley 
of  the  rocks,  and  beheld  the  ruffians  at  some  distance 
hurrying  the  lady  up  the  defile.  One  of  them  hearing 
his  approach,  let  go  his  prey,  advanced  towards  him, 
and  levelling  the  carbine  which  had  been  slung  on  his 
back,  fired.  The  ball  whizzed  through  the  Englishman's 
hat,  and  carried  with  it  some  of  his  hair.  He  returned 
the  fire  with  one  of  his  pistols,  and  the  robber  fell.  The 
other  brigand  now  dropped  the  lady,  and  drawing  a  long 
pistol  from  his  belt,  fired  on  his  adversary  with  de- 
liberate aim.  The  ball  passed  between  his  left  arm  and 
his  side,  slightly  wounding  the  arm.  The  Englishman 
advanced,  and  discharged  his  remaining  pistol,  which 
wounded  the  robber,  but  not  severely. 

The  brigand  drew  a  stiletto  and  rushed  upon  his  ad- 
versary, who  eluded  the  blow,  receiving  merely  a  slight 
wound,  and  defended  himself  with  his  pistol,  which  had 
a  spring  bayonet.  They  closed  with  one  another,  and  a 
desperate  struggle  ensued.     The  robber  was  a  square- 


4:30  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

built,  thickset  man,  powerful,  muscular,  and  active.  The 
Englishman,  though  of  larger  frame  and  greater  strength, 
was  less  active,  and  less  accustomed  to  athletic  exercises 
and  feats  of  hardihood,  but  he  showed  himself  practised 
and  skilled  in  the  art  of  defence.  They  were  on  a  craggy 
height,  and  the  Englishman  perceived  that  his  antagonist 
was  striving  to  press  him  to  the  edge.  A  side-glance 
showed  him  also  the  robber  whom  he  had  first  wounded, 
scrambling  up  to  the  assistance  of  his  comrade,  stiletto  in 
hand.  He  had  in  fact  attained  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  he 
was  within  a  few  steps,  and  the  Englishman  felt  that  his 
case  was  desperate,  when  he  heard  suddenly  the  report 
of  a  pistol,  and  the  ruffian  fell.  The  shot  came  from 
John,  who  had  arrived  just  in  time  to  save  his  master. 

The  remaining  robber,  exhausted  by  loss  of  blood  and 
the  violence  of  the  contest,  showed  signs  of  faltering. 
The  Englishman  pursued  his  advantage,  pressed  on  him, 
and  as  his  strength  relaxed,  dashed  him  headlong  from 
the  precipice.  He  looked  after  him,  and  saw  him  lying 
motionless  among  the  rocks  below. 

The  Englishman  now  sought  the  fair  Venetian.  He 
found  her  senseless  on  the  ground.  With  his  servant's 
assistance  he  bore  her  down  to  the  road,  where  her  hus- 
band was  raving  like  one  distracted.  He  had  sought  her 
in  vain,  and  had  given  her  over  for  lost ;  and  when  he 
beheld  her  thus  brought  back  in  safety,  his  joy  was 
equally  wild  and  ungovernable.  He  would  have  caught 
her  insensible  form  to  his  bosom  had  not  the  Englishman 


THE  ENGLISHMAN'S  ADVENTURE  431 

restrained  him.  The  latter,  now  really  aroused,  displayed 
a  true  tenderness  and  manly  gallantry,  which  one  would 
not  have  expected  from  his  habitual  phlegm.  His  kind- 
ness, however,  was  practical,  not  wasted  in  words.  He 
dispatched  John  to  the  carriage  for  restoratives  of  all 
kinds,  and,  totally  thoughtless  of  himself,  was  anxious 
only  about  his  lovely  charge.  The  occasional  discharge 
of  firearms  along  the  height,  showed  that  a  retreating 
fight  was  still  kept  up  by  the  robbers.  The  lady  gave 
signs  of  reviving  animation.  The  Englishman,  eager  to 
get  her  from  this  place  of  danger,  conveyed  her  to  his 
own  carriage,  and,  committing  her  to  the  care  of  her  hus- 
band, ordered  the  dragoons  to  escort  them  to  Fondi. 
The  Venetian  would  have  insisted  on  the  Englishman's 
getting  into  the  carriage ;  but  the  latter  refused.  He 
poured  forth  a  torrent  of  thanks  and  benedictions ;  but 
the  Englishman  beckoned  to  the  postilions  to  drive  on. 

John  now  dressed  his  master's  wounds,  which  were 
found  not  to  be  serious,  though  he  was  faint  with  loss  of 
blood.  The  Venetian  carriage  had  been  righted,  and  the 
baggage  replaced ;  and,  getting  into  it,  they  set  out  on 
their  way  towards  Fondi,  leaving  the  foot-soldiers  still 
engaged  in  ferreting  out  the  banditti. 

Before  arriving  at  Fondi,  the  fair  Venetian  had  com- 
pletely recovered  from  her  swoon.  She  made  the  usual 
question, — 

"Where  was  she?" 

"  In  the  Englishman's  carriage." 


432  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLER. 

"  How  had  she  escaped  from  the  robbers  ?  " 

"  The  Englishman  had  rescued  her." 

Her  transports  were  unbounded ;  and  mingled  with 
them  were  enthusiastic  ejaculations  of  gratitude  to  her 
deliverer.  A  thousand  times  did  she  reproach  herself 
for  having  accused  him  of  coldness  and  insensibility. 
The  moment  she  saw  him,  she  rushed  into  his  arms  with 
the  vivacity  of  her  nation,  and  hung  about  his  neck  in 
a  speechless  transport  of  gratitude.  Never  was  man 
more  embarrassed  by  the  embraces  of  a  fine  woman. 

^'Tut !— tut !  "  said  the  Englishman. 

"  You  are  wounded ! "  shrieked  the  fair  Venetian  as 
she  saw  blood  upon  his  clothes. 

"Pooh!  nothing  at  all!" 

"  My  deliverer  ! — my  angel ! "  exclaimed  she,  clasping 
him  again  round  the  neck,  and  sobbing  on  his  bosom. 

"  Pish !  "  said  the  Englishman,  with  a  good-humored 
tone,  but  looking  somewhat  foolish,  "this  is  all  hum- 
bug." 

The  fair  "Venetian,  however,  has  neyer  since  accused 
the  English  of  insensibility. 


PAET  FOUETH. 


THE    MONEY-DIGGERS. 

FOUND  AMONG  THE  PAPERS  OF  THE  LATE  DIEDRICH 
KNICKERBOCKER. 

"  Now  I  remember  those  old  women's  words, 
Who  in  my  youth  would  tell  me  winter's  talas  : 
And  speak  of  sprites  and  ghosts  that  glide  by  night 
About  the  place  where  treasure  hath  been  hid." 

Marlow's  Jew  of  Malta, 


HELL-GATE. 

BOUT  six  miles  from  the  renowned  city  of  the 
Manhattoes,  in  that  Sound  or  arm  of  the  sea 
which  passes  between  the  mainland  and  Nas- 
sau, or  Long  Island,  there  is  a  narrow  strait,  where  the 
current  is  violently  compressed  between  shouldering  pro- 
montories, and  horribly  perplexed  by  rocks  and  shoals. 
Being,  at  the  best  of  times,  a  very  violent,  impetuous 
current,  it  takes  these  impediments  in  mighty  dudgeon ; 
boiling  in  whirlpools  ;  brawling  and  fretting  in  ripples ; 
raging  and  roaring  in  rapids  and  breakers  ;  and,  in  short, 
indulging  in  all  kinds  of  wrong-headed  paroxysms.  At 
such  times,  woe  to  any  unlucky  vessel  that  ventures 
within  its  clutches. 

This  termagant  humor,  however,  prevails  only  at  cer- 
tain times  of  tide.  At  low  water,  for  instance,  it  is  as 
pacific  a  stream  as  you  would  wish  to  see  ;  but  as  the  tide 
rises,  it  begins  to  fret ;  at  half-tide  it  roars  with  might 
and  main,  like  a  bull  bellowing  for  more  drink ;  but 
when  the  tide  is  full,  it  relapses  into  quiet,  and,  for  a 
time,  sleeps  as  soundly  as  an  alderman  after  dinner.     In 

fact,  it  may  be  compared  to  a  quarrelsome  toper,  who  is 

435 


436  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

a  peaceable  fellow  enough  when  he  has  no  liquor  at  all, 
or  when  he  has  a  skinfull ;  but  who,  when  half-seas-over, 
plays  the  very  devil. 

This  mighty,  blustering,  bullying,  hard-drinking  little 
strait  was  a  place  of  great  danger  and  perplexity  to  the 
Dutch  navigators  of  ancient  days;  hectoring  their  tub- 
built  barks  in  a  most  unruly  style ;  whirling  them  about 
in  a  manner  to  make  any  but  a  Dutchman  giddy,  and  not 
unfrequently  stranding  them  upon  rocks  and  reefs,  as  it 
did  the  famous  squadron  of  Oloffe  the  Dreamer,  when 
seeking  a  place  to  found  the  city  of  the  Manhattoes. 
Whereupon,  out  of  sheer  spleen,  they  denominated  it 
Helle-Gat,  and  solemnly  gave  it  over  to  the  devil.  This 
appellation  has  since  been  aptly  rendejred  into  English  by 
the  name  of  Hell-gate,  and  into  nonsense  by  the  name  of 
Hurl-^hie,  according  to  certain  foreign  intruders,  who 
neither  understood  Dutch  nor  English, — may  St.  Nicho- 
las confound  them ! 

"This  strait  of  Hell-gate  was  a  place  of  great  awe  and 
perilous  enterprise  to  me  in  my  boyhood,  having  been 
much  of  a  navigator  on  those  small  seas,  and  having  more 
than  once  run  the  risk  of  shipwreck  and  drowning  in  the 
course  of  certain  holiday  voyages,  to  which,  in  common 
with  other  Dutch  urchins,  I  was  rather  prone.  Indeed, 
partly  from  the  name,  and  partly  from  various  strange 
circumstances  connected  with  it,  this  place  had  far  more 
terrors  in  the  eyes  of  my  truant  companions  and  myself 
than  had  Scylla  and  Charybdis  for  the  navigators  of  yore. 


HELL-QATE.  437 

In  the  midst  of  this  strait,  and  hard  by  a  group  of 
rocks  called  the  Hen  and  Chickens,  there  lay  the  wreck 
of  a  vessel  which  had  been  entangled  in  the  whirlpools 
and  stranded  during  a  storm.  There  was  a  wild  story 
told  to  us  of  this  being  the  wreck  of  a  pirate,  and  some 
tale  of  bloody  murder  which  I  cannot  now  recollect, 
but  which  made  us  regard  it  with  great  awe,  and  keep 
far  from  it  in  our  cruisings.  Indeed,  the  desolate  look 
of  the  forlorn  hulk,  and  the  fearful  place  where  it  lay  rot- 
ting, were  enough  to  awaken  strange  notions.  A  row  of 
timber-heads,  blackened  by  time,  just  peered  above  the 
surface  at  high  water ;  but  at  low  tide  a  considerable 
part  of  the  hull  was  bare,  and  its  great  ribs  or  timbers, 
partly  stripped  of  their  planks,  and  dripping  with  sea- 
weeds, looked  like  the  huge  skeleton  of  some  sea-mon- 
ster. There  was  also  the  stump  of  a  mast,  with  a  few 
ropes  and  blocks  swinging  about  and  whistling  in  the 
wind,  while  the  sea-gull  wheeled  and  screamed  around 
the  melancholy  carcass.  I  have  a  faint  recollection  of 
some  hobgoblin  tale  of  sailors'  ghosts  being  seen  about 
this  wreck  at  night,  with  bare  skulls,  and  blue  lights  in 
their  sockets  instead  of  eyes,  but  I  have  forgotten  all 
the  particulars. 

In  fact,  the  whole  of  this  neighborhood  was  like  the 
straits  of  Pelorus  of  yore,  a  region  of  fable  and  ro- 
mance to  me.  From  the  strait  to  the  Manhattoes,  the 
borders  of  the  Sound  are  greatly  diversified,  being 
broken  and  indented  by   rocky  nooks    overhung    with 


438  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLER 

trees,  which  give  them  a  wild  and  romantic  look.  In  the 
time  of  mj  boyhood,  they  abounded  with  traditions  about 
pirates,  ghosts,  smugglers,  and  buried  money,  which  had 
a  wonderful  effect  upon  the  young  minds  of  my  compan- 
ions and  myself. 

As  I  grew  to  more  mature  years,  I  made  diligent  re- 
search after  the  truth  of  these  strange  traditions ;  for  I 
have  always  been  a  curious  investigator  of  the  valuable 
but  obscure  branches  of  the  history  of  my  native  prov- 
ince. I  found  infinite  difficulty,  however,  in  arriving  at 
any  precise  information.  In  seeking  to  dig  up  one  fact,  it 
is  incredible  the  number  of  fables  that  I  unearthed.  I 
will  say  nothing  of  the  devil's  stepping-stones,  by  which 
the  arch-fiend  made  his  retreat  from  Connecticut  to  Long 
Island,  across  the  Sound ;  seeing  the  subject  is  likely  to 
be  learnedly  treated  by  a  worthy  friend  and  contempo- 
rary historian  whom  I  have  furnished  with  particulars 
thereof.*  Neither  will  I  say  anything  of  the  black  man 
in  the  three-cornered  hat,  seated  in  the  stern  of  a  jolly- 
boat,  who  used  to  be  seen  about  Hell-gate  in  stormy 
weather,  and  who  went  by  the  name  of  the  pirate's 
spuke,  (i.  e.  pirate's  ghost,)  and  whom,  it  is  said,  old  Gov- 
ernor Stuyvesant  once  shot  with  a  silver  bullet ;  be- 
cause I  never  could  meet  with  any  person  of  stanch  cred- 


*  For  a  very  interesting  and  authentic  acconnt  of  the  devil  and  his 
Btepping-stones,  see  the  valuable  Memoir  read  before  the  New  York  His- 
torical Society,  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker,  by  his  friend,  an 
eminent  jurist  of  the  place. 


HELL-GATE.  439 

ibility  who  professed  to  have  seen  this  spectrum,  unless 
it  were  the  widow  of  Manus  Conklen,  the  blacksmith,  of 
Frogsneck ;  but  then,  poor  woman,  she  was  a  little  pur- 
blind, and  might  have  been  mistaken ;  though  they  say 
she  saw  farther  than  other  folks  in  the  dark. 

All  this,  however,  was  but  little  satisfactory  in  regard 
to  the  tales  of  pirates  and  their  buried  money,  about 
which  I  was  most  curious ;  and  the  following  is  all  that  I 
could,  for  a  long  time,  collect,  that  had  anything  like  an 
air  of  authenticity. 


KIDD    THE    PIRATE. 

N  old  times,  just  after  tlie  territory  of  the 
New  Netherlands  had  been  wrested  from  the 
hands  of  their  High  Mightinesses,  the  Lords 
States-General  of  Holland,  by  King  Charles  the  Second, 
and  while  it  was  as  yet  in  an  unquiet  state,  the  province 
was  a  great  resort  of  random  adventurers,  loose  livers, 
and  all  that  class  of  hap-hazard  fellows  who  live  by  their 
wits,  and  dislike  the  old-fashioned  restraint  of  law  and 
gospel.  Among  these,  the  foremost  were  the  buccaneers. 
These  were  rovers  of  the  deep,  who  perhaps  in  time  of 
war  had  been  educated  in  those  schools  of  piracy,  the 
privateers;  but  having  once  tasted  the  sweets  of  plun- 
der, had  ever  retained  a  hankering  after  it.  There  is  but 
a  slight  step  from  the  privateersman  to  the  pirate  ;  both 
fight  for  the  love  of  plunder ;  only  that  the  latter  is 
the  bravest,  as  he  dares  both  the  enemy  and  the  gal- 
lows. 

But  in  whatever  school  they  had  been  taught,  the  buc- 
caneers that  kept  about  the  English  colonies  were  dar- 
ing fellows,  and  made  sad  work  in  times  of  peace  among 
the    Spanish    settlements    and    Spanish    merchantmen. 

440 


EIDD  THE  PIE  ATE.  441 

The  easy  access  to  the  harbor  of  the  Manhattoes,  the 
number  of  hiding-places  about  its  waters,  and  the  laxity 
of  its  scarcely  organized  government,  made  it  a  great 
rendezvous  of  the  pirates ;  where  they  might  dispose  of 
their  booty,  and  concert  new  depredations.  As  they 
brought  home  with  them  wealthy  lading  of  all  kinds,  the 
luxuries  of  the  tropics,  and  the  sumptuous  spoils  of  the 
Spanish  provinces,  and  disposed  of  them  with  the  pro- 
verbial  carelessness  of  freebooters,  they  were  welcome 
visitors  to  the  thrifty  traders  of  the  Manhattoes.  Crews 
of  these  desperadoes,  therefore,  the  runagates  of  every 
country  and  every  clime,  might  be  seen  swaggering  in 
open  day  about  the  streets  of  the  little  burgh,  elbowing 
its  quiet  mynheers ;  trafficking  away  their  rich  outland- 
ish plunder  at  half  or  quarter  price  to  the  wary  mer- 
chant; and  then  squandering  their  prize-money  in  tav- 
erns, drinking,  gambling,  singing;  swearing,  shouting, 
and  astounding  the  neighborhood  with  midnight  brawl 
and  ruffian  revelry. 

At  length  these  excesses  rose  to  such  a  height  as  to 
become  a  scandal  to  the  provinces,  and  to  call  loudly  for 
the  interposition  of  government.  Measures  were  accord- 
ingly taken  to  put  a  stop  to  the  widely  extended  evil,  and 
to  ferret  this  vermin  brood  out  of  the  colonies. 

Among  the  agents  employed  to  execute  this  purpose 
was  the  notorious  Captain  Kidd.  He  had  long  been  an 
equivocal  character ;  one  of  those  nondescript  animals 
of  the  ocean  that  are  neither  fish,  flesh,  nor  fowl.    He 


442  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLEB. 

was  somewhat  of  a  trader,  something  more  of  a  smug- 
gler, with  a  considerable  dash  of  the  picaroon.  He  had 
traded  for  many  years  among  the  pirates,  in  a  little 
rakish  mosquito-built  vessel,  that  could  run  into  al] 
kinds  of  waters.  He  knew  all  their  haunts  and  lurking- 
places  ;  was  always  hooking  about  on  mysterious  voy- 
ages, and  was  as  busy  as  a  Mother  Gary's  chicken  in  a 
storm. 

This  nondescript  personage  was  pitched  upon  by  gov- 
ernment as  the  very  man  to  hunt  the  pirates  by  sea, 
upon  the  good  old  maxim  of  "  setting  a  rogue  to  catch  a 
rogue " ;  or  as  otters  are  sometimes  used  to  catch  their 
cousins-german,  the  fish. 

Kidd  accordingly  sailed  for  New  York,  in  1695,  in  a 
gallant  vessel  called  the  Adventure  Galley,  well  armed 
and  duly  commissioned.  On  arriving  at  his  old  haunts, 
however,  he  shipped  his  crew  on  new  terms ;  enlisted  a 
number  of  his  old  comrades,  lads  of  the  knife  and  the 
pistol ;  and  then  set  sail  for  the  East.  Instead  of  cruis- 
ing against  pirates,  he  turned  pirate  himself ;  steered  to 
the  Madeiras,  to  Bonavista,  and  Madagascar,  and  cruised 
about  the  entrance  of  the  Ked  Sea.  Here,  among  other 
maritime  robberies,  he  captured  a  rich  Quedah  mer- 
chantman, manned  by  Moors,  though  commanded  by  an 
Englishman.  Kidd  would  fain  have  passed  this  off  for  a 
worthy  exploit,  as  being  a  kind  of  crusade  against  the 
infidels ;  but  government  had  long  since  lost  all  relish 
for  such  Christian  triumphs. 


KIDD  TEE  Pin  ATE.  443 

After  roaming  the  seas,  trafficking  his  prizes,  and 
changing  from  ship  to  ship,  Kidd  had  the  hardihood  to 
return  to  Boston,  laden  with  booty,  with  a  crew  of  swag- 
gering companions  at  his  heels. 

Times,  however,  were  changed.  The  buccaneers  could 
no  longer  show  a  whisker  in  the  colonies  with  impunity. 
The  new  Governor,  Lord  Bellamont,  had  signalized  him- 
self by  his  zeal  in  extirpating  these  offenders  ;  and  was 
doubly  exasperated  against  Kidd,  having  been  instru- 
mental in  appointing  him  to  the  trust  which  he  had  be- 
trayed. No  sooner,  therefore,  did  he  show  himself  in 
Boston,  than  the  alarm  was  given  of  his  reappearance, 
and  measures  were  taken  to  arrest  this  cutpurse  of  the 
ocean.  The  daring  character  which  Kidd  had  acquired, 
however,  and  the  desperate  fellows  who  followed  like 
bull-dogs  at  his  heels,  caused  a  little  delay  in  his  arrest. 
He  took  advantage  of  this,  it  is  said,  to  bury  the  greater 
part  of  his  treasures,  and  then  carried  a  high  head  about 
the  streets  of  Boston.  He  even  attempted  to  defend 
himself  when  arrested,  but  was  secured  and  thrown  into 
prison,  with  his  followers.  Such  was  the  formidable 
character  of  this  pirate  and  his  crew,  that  it  was  thought 
advisable  to  dispatch  a  frigate  to  bring  them  to  England. 
Great  exertions  were  made  to  screen  him  from  justice, 
but  in  vain ;  he  and  his  comrades  were  tried,  condemned, 
and  hanged  at  Execution  Dock  in  London.  Kidd  died 
hard,  for  the  rope  with  which  he  was  first  tied  up 
broke  with  his  weight,  and  he  tumbled  to  the  ground. 


444  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

He  was  tied  up  a  second  time,  and  more  effectually; 
hence  came,  doubtless,  the  story  of  Kidd's  having  a 
charmed  life,  and  that  he  had  to  be  twice  hanged. 

Such  is  the  main  outline  of  Kidd's  history;  but  it 
has  given  birth  to  an  innumerable  progeny  of  traditions. 
The  report  of  his  having  buried  great  treasures  of  gold 
and  jewels  before  his  arrest,  set  the  brains  of  all  the 
good  people  along  the  coast  in  a  ferment.  There  were 
rumors  on  rumors  of  great  sums  of  money  found  here 
and  there,  sometimes  in  one  part  of  the  country,  some- 
times in  another ;  of  coins  with  Moorish  inscriptions, 
doubtless  the  spoils  of  his  eastern  prizes,  but  which 
the  common  people  looked  upon  with  superstitious  awe, 
regarding  the  Moorish  letters  as  diabolical  or  magical 
characters. 

Some  reported  the  treasure  to  have  been  buried  in 
solitary,  unsettled  places,  about  Plymouth  and  Cape 
Cod ;  but  by  degrees  various  other  parts,  not  only  on 
the  eastern  coast,  but  along  the  shores  of  the  Sound, 
and  even  of  Manhattan  and  Long  Island,  were  gilded 
by  these  rumors.  In  fact,  the  rigorous  measures  of  Lord 
Bellamont  spread  sudden  consternation  among  the  l^uc- 
caneers  in  every  part  of  the  provinces :  they  secreted 
their  money  and  jewels  in  lonely  out-of-the-way  places, 
about  the  wild  shores  of  the  rivers  and  sea-coast,  and 
dispersed  themselves  over  the  face  of  thecountry.  The 
hand  of  justice  prevented  many  of  them  from  ever  return- 
ing to  regain  their  buried  treasures,  which  remained,  and 


KIDD  THE  PIRATE.  445 

remain  probably  to  this  day,  objects  of  enterprise  for  tlie 
money-digger. 

This  is  the  cause  of  those  frequent  reports  of  trees 
and  rocks  bearing  mysterious  marks,  supposed  to  indi- 
cate the  spots  Avhere  treasures  lay  hidden ;  and  many 
have  been  the  ransackings  after  the  pirate's  booty.  In 
all  the  stories  which  once  abounded  of  these  enterprises 
the  devil  played  a  conspicuous  part.  Either  he  was 
conciliated  by  ceremonies  and  invocations,  or  some  sol- 
emn compact  was  made  with  him.  Still  he  was  ever 
prone  to  play  the  money-diggers  some  slippery  trick. 
Some  would  dig  so  far  as  to  come  to  an  iron  chest, 
when  some  bafSing  circumstance  was  sure  to  take  place. 
Either  the  earth  would  fall  in  and  fill  up  the  pit,  or 
some  direful  noise  or  apparition  would  frighten  the 
party  from  the  place :  sometimes  the  devil  himself 
would  appear,  and  bear  off  the  prize  when  within  their 
very  grasp ;  and  if  they  revisited  the  place  the  next  day, 
not  a  trace  would  be  found  of  their  labors  of  the  preced- 
ing night. 

All  these  rumors,  however,  were  extremely  vague,  and 
for  a  long  time  tantalized,  without  gratifying,  my  curios- 
ity. There  is  nothing  in  this  world  so  hard  to  get  at  as 
truth,  and  there  is  nothing  in  this  world  but  truth  that  I 
care  for.  I  sought  among  all  my  favorite  sources  of  au- 
thentic information,  the  oldest  inhabitants,  and  particu- 
larly the  old  Dutch  wives  of  the  province ;  but  though  I 
flatter  myself  that  I  am  better  versed  than  most  men  in 


446  TALES  OF  A    TRA  VELLER. 

the  curious  history  of  my  native  province,  yet  for  a  long 
time  my  inquiries  were  unattended  with  any  substan- 
tial result. 

At  length  it  happened  that,  one  calm  day  in  the  latter 
part  of  summer,  I  was  relaxing  myself  from  the  toils  of 
severe  study,  by  a  day's  amusement  in  fishing  in  those 
waters  w^hich  had  been  the  favorite  resort  of  my  boy- 
hood. I  was  in  company  with  several  worthy  burghers 
of  my  native  city,  among  whom  were  more  than  one  illus- 
trious member  of  the  corporation,  whose  names,  did  I 
dare  to  mention  them,  would  do  honor  to  my  humble 
page.  Our  sport  was  indifferent.  The  fish  did  not  bite 
freely,  and  we  frequently  changed  our  fishing-ground 
without  bettering  our  luck.  We  were  at  length  anchored 
•slose  under  a  ledge  of  rocky  coast,  on  the  eastern  side  of 
the  island  of  Manhatta.  It  was  a  still,  warm  day.  The 
stream  whirled  and  dimpled  by  us,  without  a  wave  or 
even  a  ripple  ;  and  everything  was  so  calm  and  quiet, 
that  it  was  almost  startling  when  the  kingfisher  would 
pitch  himself  from  the  branch  of  some  high  tree,  and 
after  suspending  himself  for  a  moment  in  the  air,  to  take 
his  aim,  would  souse  into  the  smooth  water  after  his 
prey.  While  we  were  lolling  in  our  boat,  half  drowsy 
with  the  warm  stillness  of  the  day,  and  the  dulness  of 
our  sport,  one  of  our  party,  a  worthy  alderman,  was  over- 
taken by  a  slumber,  and,  as  he  dozed,  suffered  the  sinker 
of  his  drop-line  to  lie  upon  the  bottom  of  the  river.  On 
waking,  he  found  he  had  caught  something  of  importance 


ALDERMANIC    RECREATION.       (P.  446), 


KIDD  THE  PIRATE.  447 

from  tlie  weight.  On  drawing  it  to  the  surface,  we  were 
much  surprised  to  find  it  a  long  pistol  of  yery  curious 
and  outlandish  fashion,  which,  from  its  rusted  condition, 
and  its  stock  being  worm-eaten  and  covered  with  barna- 
cles, appeared  to  have  lain  a  long  time  under  water.  The 
unexpected  appearance  of  this  document  of  warfare  occa- 
sioned much  speculation  among  my  pacific  companions. 
One  supposed  it  to  have  fallen  there  during  the  revolu- 
tionary war ;  another,  from  the  peculiarity  of  its  fashion, 
attributed  it  to  the  voyagers  in  the  earliest  days  of  the 
settlement ;  perchance  to  the  renowned  Adrian  Block, 
who  explored  the  Sound,  and  discovered  Block  Island, 
since  so  noted  for  its  cheese.  But  a  third,  after  regard- 
ing it  for  some  time,  pronounced  it  to  be  of  veritable 
Spanish  workmanship. 

"I'll  warrant,"  said  he,  "if  this  pistol  could  talk,  it 
would  tell  strange  stories  of  hard  fights  among  the 
Spanish  Dons.  I've  no  doubt  but  it  is  a  relic  of  the 
buccaneers  of  old  times, — who  knows  but  it  belonged  to 
Kidd  himself?" 

"Ah!  that  Kidd  was  a  resolute  fellow,"  cried  an  old 
iron-faced  Cape-Cod  whaler. — "There's  a  fine  old  song 
about  him,  all  to  the  tune  of — 

My  name  is  Captain  Kidd, 
As  1  sailed,  as  I  sailed ; — 

and  then  it  tells  about  how  he  gained  the  devil's  good 
graces  by  burying  the  Bible : — 


448  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

I  had  the  Bible  in  my  hand, 

As  1  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 
And  I  buried  it  in  the  sand, 

As  1  sailed. — 

"Odsfisli,  if  I  thouglit  this  pistol  had  belonged  to 
Kidd,  I  should  set  great  store  by  it,  for  curiosity's  sake. 
By  the  way,  I  recollect  a  story  about  a  fellow  who  once 
dug  up  Kidd's  buried  money,  which  was  written  by  a 
neighbor  of  mine,  and  which  I  learnt  by  heart.  As  the 
fish  don't  bite  just  now,  I'll  tell  it  to  you,  by  way  of  pass- 
ing away  the  time." — And  so  saying,  he  gave  us  the  fol- 
lowing narration. 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER 

FEW  miles  from  Boston  in  Massachusetts, 
there  is  a  deep  inlet,  winding  several  miles 
into  the  interior  of  the  country  from  Charles 
Bay,  and  terminating  in  a  thickly-wooded  swamp  or 
morass.  On  one  side  of  this  inlet  is  a  beautiful  dark 
grove  ;  on  the  opposite  side  the  land  rises  abruptly  from 
the  water's  edge  into  a  high  ridge,  on  which  grow  a  few 
scattered  oaks  of  great  age  and  immense  size.  Under 
one  of  these  gigantic  trees,  according  to  old  stories,  there 
was  a  great  amount  of  treasure  buried  by  Kidd  the 
pirate.  The  inlet  allowed  a  facility  to  bring  the  money 
in  a  boat  secretly  and  at  night  to  the  very  foot  of  the 
hill ;  the  elevation  of  the  place  permitted  a  good  look- 
out to  be  kept  that  no  one  was  at  hand;  while  the 
remarkable  trees  formed  good  landmarks  by  which  the 
place  might  easily  be  found  again.  The  old  stories  add, 
moreover,  that  the  devil  presided  at  the  hiding  of  the 
money,  and  took  it  under  his  guardianship ;  but  this,  it 
is  well  known,  he  always  does  with  buried  treasure,  par- 
ticularly when  it  has  been  ill-gotten.     Be  that  as  it  may, 

Kidd  never  returned  to  recover  his  wealth ;  being  shortly 
29  449 


450  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLER. 

after  seized  at  Boston,  sent  out  to  England,  and  there 
hanged  for  a  pirate. 

About  the  year  1727,  just  at  the  time  that  earthquakes 
were  prevalent  in  New  England,  and  shook  many  tall 
sinners  down  upon  their  knees,  there  lived  near  this 
place  a  meagre,  miserly  fellow,  of  the  name  of  Tom 
Walker.  He  had  a  wife  as  miserly  as  himself :  they 
were  so  miserly  that  they  even  conspired  to  cheat  each 
other.  Whatever  the  woman  could  lay  hands  on,  she 
hid  away ;  a  hen  could  not  cackle  but  she  was  on  the 
alert  to  secure  the  new-laid  egg.  Her  husband  was  con- 
tinually prying  about  to  detect  her  secret  hoards,  and 
many  and  fierce  were  the  conflicts  that  took  place  about 
what  ought  to  have  been  common  property.  They  lived 
in  a  forlorn-looking  house  that  stood  alone,  and  had  an 
air  of  starvation.  A  few  straggling  savin-trees,  emblems 
of  sterility,  grew  near  it ;  no  smoke  ever  curled  from  its 
chimney  ;  no  traveller  stopped  at  its  door.  A  miserable 
horse,  whose  ribs  were  as  articulate  as  the  bars  of  a 
gridiron,  stalked  about  a  field,  where  a  thin  carpet  of 
moss,  scarcely  covering  the  ragged  beds  of  pudding- 
stone,  tantalized  and  balked  his  hunger ;  and  sometimes 
he  would  lean  his  head  over  the  fence,  look  piteously  at 
the  passer-by,  and  seem  to  petition  deliverance  from  this 
land  of  famine. 

The  house  and  its  inmates  had  altogether  a  bad  name. 
Tom's  wife  was  a  tall  termagant,  fierce  of  temper,  loud 
of  tongue,  and  strong  of  arm.     Her  voice  was  often  heard 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER.  45I 

in  wordy  warfare  with  lier  husband ;  and  his  face  some- 
times showed  signs  that  their  conflicts  were  not  confined 
to  words.  No  one  ventured,  however,  to  interfere  be- 
tween them.  The  lonely  wayfarer  shrunk  within  himself 
at  the  horrid  clamor  and  clapper-clawing ;  eyed  the  den 
of  discord  askance  ;  and  hurried  on  his  way,  rejoicing,  if 
a  bachelor,  in  his  celibacy. 

One  day  that  Tom  Walker  had  been  to  a  distant  part 
of  the  neighborhood,  he  took  what  he  considered  a  short 
cut  homeward,  through  the  swamp.  Like  most  short 
cuts,  it  was  an  ill-chosen  route.  The  swamp  was  thickly 
grown  with  great  gloomy  pines  and  hemlocks,  some  of 
them  ninety  feet  high,  which  made  it  dark  at  noonday, 
and  a  retreat  for  all  the  owls  of  the  neighborhood.  It 
was  full  of  pits  and  quagmires,  partly  covered  with 
weeds  and  mosses,  where  the  green  surface  often  be- 
trayed the  traveller  into  a  gulf  of  black,  smothering 
mud :  there  were  also  dark  and  stagnant  pools,  the 
abodes  of  the  tadpole,  the  bull-frog,  and  the  water- 
snake  ;  where  the  trunks  of  pines  and  hemlocks  lay 
half-drowned,  half-rotting,  looking  like  alligators  sleep- 
ing in  the  mire. 

Tom  had  long  been  picking  his  way  cautiously  through 
this  treacherous  forest ;  stepping  from  tuft  to  tuft  of 
rushes  and  roots,  which  afforded  precarious  footholds 
among  deep  sloughs  ;  or  pacing  carefully,  like  a  cat, 
along  the  prostrate  trunks  of  trees ;  startled  now  and 
then  by  the   sudden  screaming  of  the  bittern,  or  the 


452  TALES  OF  A   TRA  VELLEh. 

quacking  of  a  wild  duck  rising  on  the  wing  from  some 
solitary  pool.  At  length  he  arrived  at  a  firm  piece  of 
ground,  which  ran  out  like  a  peninsula  into  the  deep 
bosom  of  the  swamp.  It  had  been  one  of  the  strongholds 
of  the  Indians  during  their  wars  with  the  first  colonists. 
Here  they  had  thrown  up  a  kind  of  fort,  which  they  had 
looked  upon  as  almost  impregnable,  and  had  used  as  a 
place  of  refuge  for  their  squaws  and  children.  Nothing 
remained  of  the  old  Indian  fort  but  a  few  embankments, 
gradually  sinking  to  the  level  of  the  surrounding  earth, 
and  already  overgrown  in  part  by  oaks  and  other  forest 
trees,  the  foliage  of  which  formed  a  contrast  to  the  dark 
pines  and  hemlocks  of  the  swamp. 

It  was  late  in  the  dusk  of  evening  when  Tom  Walker 
reached  the  old  fort,  and  he  paused  there  awhile  to  rest 
himself.  Any  one  but  he  would  have  felt  unwilling  to 
linger  in  this  lonely,  melancholy  place,  for  the  common 
people  had  a  bad  opinion  of  it,  from  the  stories  handed 
down  from  the  time  of  the  Indian  wars  ;  when  it  was  as- 
serted that  the  savages  held  incantations  here,  and  made 
sacrifices  to  the  evil  spirit. 

Tom  Walker,  however,  was  not  a  man  to  be  troubled 
with  any  fears  of  the  kind.  He  reposed  himself  for  some 
time  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  hemlock,  listening  to  the 
boding  cry  of  the  tree-toad,  and  delving  with  his  walk- 
ing-staff into  a  mound  of  black  mould  at  his  feet.  As  he 
turned  up  the  soil  unconsciously,  his  staff  struck  against 
something    hard.      He   raked  it  out  of    the    vegetable 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER.  453 

mould,  and  lo !  a  cloven  skull,  with  an  Indian  tomahawk 
buried  deep  in  it,  lay  before  him.  The  rust  on  the 
weapon  showed  the  time  that  had  elapsed  since  this 
death-blow  had  been  given.  It  was  a  dreary  memento  of 
the  fierce  struggle  that  had  taken  place  in  this  last  foot- 
hold of  the  Indian  warriors. 

"  Humph !  "  said  Tom  Walker,  as  he  gave  it  a  kick  to 
shake  the  dirt  from  it. 

"  Let  that  skull  alone  !  "  said  a  gruff  voice.  Tom  lifted 
up  his  eyes,  and  beheld  a  great  black  man  seated  directly 
opposite  him,  on  the  stump  of  a  tree.  He  was  exceed- 
ingly surprised,  having  neither  heard  nor  seen  any  one 
approach  ;  and  he  was  still  more  perplexed  on  observ- 
ing, as  well  as  the  gathering  gloom  would  permit,  that 
the  stranger  was  neither  negro  nor  Indian.  It  is  true  he 
was  dressed  in  a  rude  half  Indian  garb,  and  had  a  red 
belt  or  sash  swathed  round  his  body ;  but  his  face  was 
neither  black  nor  copper-color,  but  swarthy  and  dingy, 
and  begrimed  with  soot,  as  if  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
toil  among  fires  and  forges.  He  had  a  shock  of  coarse 
black  hair,  that  stood  out  from  his  head  in  all  directions, 
and  bore  an  axe  on  his  shoulder. 

He  scowled  for  a  moment  at  Tom  with  a  pair  of  great 
red  eyes. 

"  What  are  you  doing  on  my  grounds  ?  "  said  the  black 
man,  with  a  hoarse  growling  voice. 

"  Your  grounds  !  "  said  Tom,  with  a  sneer,  "  no  more 
your  grounds  than  mine  ;  they  belong  to  Deacon  Peabody." 


454  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

"  Deacon  Peabody  be  d d,"  said  the  stranger,  "as 

I  flatter  myself  he  will  be,  if  he  does  not  look  more  to 
his  own  sins  and  less  to  those  of  his  neighbors.  Look 
yonder,  and  see  how  Deacon  Peabody  is  faring." 

Tom  looked  in  the  direction  that  the  stranger  pointed, 
and  beheld  one  of  the  great  trees,  fair  and  flourishing 
without,  but  rotten  at  the  core,  and  saw  that  it  had  been 
nearly  hewn  through,  so  that  the  first  high  wind  was 
likely  to  blow  it  down.  On  the  bark  of  the  tree  was 
scored  the  name  of  Deacon  Peabody,  an  eminent  man, 
who  had  waxed  wealthy  by  driving  shrewd  bargains 
with  the  Indians.  He  now  looked  around,  and  found 
most  of  the  tall  trees  marked  with  the  name  of  some 
great  man  of  the  colony,  and  all  more  or  less  scored  by 
the  axe.  The  one  on  which  he  had  been  seated,  and 
which  had  evidently  just  been  hewn  down,  bore  the  name 
of  Crowninshield  ;  and  he  recollected  a  mighty  rich  man 
of  that  name,  who  made  a  vulgar  display  of  wealth, 
which  it  was  whispered  he  had  acquired  by  buccaneer- 
ing. 

"  He's  just  ready  for  burning ! "  said  the  black  man, 
with  a  growl  of  triumph.  "  You  see  I  am  likely  to  have 
a  good  stock  of  firewood  for  winter." 

"But  what  right  have  you,"  said  Tom,  "to  cut  down 
Deacon  Peabody's  timber?  " 

"  The  right  of  a  prior  claim,"  said  the  other.  "  This 
woodland  belonged  to  me  long  before  one  of  your  white- 
faced  race  put  foot  upon  the  soil." 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER  455 

"And  pray,  who  are  you,  if  I  may  be  so  bold?  "  said 
Tom. 

"  Oh,  I  go  by  various  names.  I  am  the  wild  hunts- 
man in  some  countries ;  the  black  miner  in  others.  In 
this  neighborhood  I  am  known  by  the  name  of  the  black 
woodsman.  I  am  he  to  whom  the  red  men  consecrated 
this  spot,  and  in  honor  of  whom  they  now  and  then 
roasted  a  white  man,  by  way  of  sweet-smelling  sacrifice. 
Since  the  red  men  have  been  exterminated  by  you  white 
savages,  I  amuse  myself  by  presiding  at  the  persecutions 
of  Quakers  and  Anabaptists ;  I  am  the  great  patron  and 
prompter  of  slave-dealers,  and  the  grand-master  of  the 
Salem  witches." 

"The  upshot  of  all  which  is,  that,  if  I  mistake  not,'' 
said  Tom,  sturdily,  "you  are  he  commonly  called  Old 
Scratch." 

"The  same,  at  your  service!"  replied  the  black  man, 
with  a  half  civil  nod. 

Such  was  the  opening  of  this  interview,  according  to 
the  old  story ;  though  it  has  almost  too  familiar  an  air  to 
be  credited.  One  would  think  that  to  meet  v/ith  such  a 
singular  personage,  in  this  wild,  lonely  place,  would  have 
shaken  any  man's  nerves ;  but  Tom  was  a  hard-minded 
fellow,  not  easily  daunted,  and  he  had  lived  so  long  with 
a  termagant  wife,  that  he  did  not  even  fear  the  devil. 

It  is  said  that  after  this  commencement  they  had  a 
long  and  earnest  conversation  together,  as  Tom  returned 
homeward.     The  black  man  told  him  of  great  sums  of 


456  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEM. 

money  buried  by  Kidd  the  pirate,  under  the  oak-trees  on 
the  high  ridge,  not  far  from  the  morass.  All  these  were 
under  his  command,  and  protected  by  his  power,  so  that 
none  could  find  them  but  such  as  propitiated  his  favor. 
These  he  offered  to  place  within  Tom  Walker's  reach, 
having  conceived  an  especial  kindness  for  him ;  but  they 
were  to  be  had  only  on  certain  conditions.  What  these 
conditions  were  may  be  easily  surmised,  though  Tom 
never  disclosed  them  publicly.  They  must  have  been 
very  hard,  for  he  required  time  to  think  of  them,  and  he 
was  not  a  man  to  stick  at  trifles  when  money  was  in  view. 
When  they  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  the 
stranger  paused.  "What  proof  have  I  that  all  you  have 
been  telling  me  is  true?"  said  Tom.  "There's  my  signa- 
ture," said  the  black  man,  pressing  his  finger  on  Tom's 
forehead.  So  saying,  he  turned  off  among  the  thickets  of 
the  swamp,  and  seemed,  as  Tom  said,  to  go  down,  down, 
down,  into  the  earth,  until  nothing  but  his  head  and 
shoulders  could  be  seen,  and  so  on,  until  he  totally  dis- 
appeared. 

When  Tom  reached  home,  he  found  the  black  print  of 
a  finger  burnt,  as  it  were,  into  his  forehead,  which 
nothing  could  obliterate. 

The  first  news  his  wife  had  to  tell  him  was  the  sudden 
death  of  Absalom  Crowninshield,  the  rich  buccaneer.  It 
was  announced  in  the  papers  with  the  usual  flourish,  that 
"A  great  man  had  fallen  in  Israel." 

Tom  recollected  the  tree  which  his  black  friend  had 


TEE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKEB,  457 

just  hewn  down,  and  which  was  ready  for  burning.  "  Let 
the  freebooter  roast,"  said  Tom,  "who  cares!"  He  now 
felt  convinced  that  all  he  had  heard  and  seen  was  no 
illusion. 

He  was  not  prone  to  let  his  wife  into  his  confidence ; 
but  as  this  was  an  uneasy  secret,  he  willingly  shared  it 
with  her.  All  her  avarice  was  awakened  at  the  mention 
of  hidden  gold,  and  she  urged  her  husband  to  comply 
with  the  black  man's  terms,  and  secure  what  would  make 
them  wealthy  for  life.  However  Tom  might  have  felt 
disposed  to  sell  himself  to  the  Devil,  he  was  determined 
not  to  do  so  to  oblige  his  wife ;  so  he  flatly  refused,  out 
of  the  mere  spirit  of  contradiction.  Many  and  bitter 
were  the  quarrels  they  had  on  the  subject ;  but  the  more 
she  talked,  the  more  resolute  was  Tom  not  to  be  damned 
to  please  her. 

At  length  she  determined  to  drive  the  bargain  on  her 
own  account,  and  if  she  succeeded,  to  keep  all  the  gain  to 
herself.  Being  of  the  same  fearless  temper  as  her  hus- 
band, she  set  off  for  the  old  Indian  fort  towards  the  close 
of  a  summer's  day.  She  was  many  hours  absent.  When 
she  came  back,  she  was  reserved  and  sullen  in  her  re- 
plies. She  spoke  something  of  a  black  man,  whom  she 
had  met  about  twilight  hewing  at  the  root  of  a  tall  tree. 
He  was  sulky,  however,  and  would  not  come  to  terms  : 
she  was  to  go  again  with  a  propitiatory  offering,  but  what 
it  was  she  forbore  to  say. 

The  next  evening  she  set  off  again  for  the  swamp,  with 


458  TALES  OP  A  TRAVELLER. 

her  apron  heavily  laden.  Tom  waited  and  waited  for  her, 
but  in  vain ;  midnight  came,  but  she  did  not  make  her 
appearance  :  morning,  noon,  night  returned,  but  still  she 
did  not  come.  Tom  now  grew  uneasy  for  her  safety,  es- 
pecially as  he  found  she  had  carried  off  in  her  apron  the 
silver  tea-pot  and  spoons,  and  every  portable  article  of 
value.  Another  night  elapsed,  another  morning  came ; 
but  no  wife.     In  a  word,  she  was  never  heard  of  more. 

What  was  her  real  fate  nobody  knows,  in  consequence 
of  so  many  pretending  to  know.  It  is  one  of  those  facts 
which  have  become  confounded  by  a  variety  of  historians. 
Some  asserted  that  she  lost  her  way  among  the  tangled 
mazes  of  the  swamp,  and  sank  into  some  pit  or  slough  ; 
others,  more  uncharitable,  hinted  that  she  had  eloped 
with  the  household  booty,  and  made  off  to  some  other 
province ;  while  others  surmised  that  the  tempter  had 
decoyed  her  into  a  dismal  quagmire,  on  the  top  of  which 
her  hat  was  found  lying.  In  confirmation  of  this,  it 
was  said  a  great  black  man,  with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder, 
was  seen  late  that  very  evening  coming  out  of  the  swamp, 
carrying  a  bundle  tied  in  a  check  apron,  with  an  air  of 
surly  triumph. 

The  most  current  and  probable  story,  however,  ob- 
serves, that  Tom  Walker  grew  so  anxious  about  the  fate 
of  his  wife  and  his  property,  that  he  set  out  at  length 
to  seek  them  both  at  the  Indian  fort.  During  a  long 
summer's  afternoon  he  searched  about  the  gloomy  place, 
but  no  wife  was  to  be  seen.     He  called  her  name  repeat- 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER.  459 

edlj,  but  she  was  nowhere  to  be  heard.  The  bittern 
alone  responded  to  his  voice,  as  he  flew  screaming  bj ;  or 
the  bull-frog  croaked  dolefully  from  a  neighboring  pool. 
At  length,  it  is  said,  just  in  the  brown  hour  of  twilight, 
when  the  owls  began  to  hoot,  and  the  bats  to  flit  about, 
his  attention  was  attracted  by  the  clamor  of  carrion  crows 
hovering  about  a  cypress-tree.  He  looked  up,  and  be- 
held a  bundle  tied  in  a  check  apron,  and  hanging  in  the 
branches  of  the  tree,  with  a  great  vulture  perched  hard 
by,  as  if  keeping  watch  upon  it.  He  leaped  with  joy  ;  for 
he  recognized  his  wife's  apron,  and  supposed  it  to  con- 
tain the  household  valuables. 

"Let  us  get  hold  of  the  property,"  said  he,  consol- 
ingly to  himself,  "and  we  will  endeavor  to  do  without 
the  woman." 

As  he  scrambled  up  the  tree,  the  vulture  spread  its 
wide  wings,  and  sailed  off,  screaming,  into  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  forest.  Tom  seized  the  checked  apron, 
but,  woful  sight !  found  nothing  but  a  heart  and  liver 
tied  up  in  it ! 

Such,  according  to  this  most  authentic  old  story,  was 
all  that  was  to  be  found  of  Tom's  wife.  She  had  prob- 
ably attempted  to  deal  with  the  black  man  as  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  deal  with  her  husband  ;  but  though 
a  female  scold  is  generally  considered  a  match  for  the 
devil,  yet  in  this  instance  she  appears  to  have  had  the 
worst  o^  it.  She  must  have  died  game,  however ;  for  it 
is  said  Tom  noticed  many  prints  of  cloven  feet  deeply 


460  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLEB. 

stamped  about  tlie  tree,  and  found  liandfuls  of  hair,  tliat 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  plucked  from  the  coarse  black 
shock  of  the  woodman.  Tom  knew  his  wife's  prow- 
ess by  experience.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  he 
looked  at  the  signs  of  a  fierce  clapper-clawing.  "  Egad," 
said  he  to  himself,  "  Old  Scratch  must  have  had  a  tough 
time  of  it ! " 

Tom  consoled  himself  for  the  loss  of  his  property,  with 
the  loss  of  his  wife,  for  he  was  a  man  of  fortitude.  He 
even  felt  something  like  gratitude  towards  the  black 
woodman,  who,  he  considered,  had  done  him  a  kindness. 
He  sought,  therefore,  to  cultivate  a  further  acquaintance 
with  him,  but  for  some  time  without  success ;  the  old 
black-legs  played  shy,  for  whatever  people  may  think,  he 
is  not  always  to  be  had  for  calling  for :  he  knows  how  to 
play  his  cards  when  pretty  sure  of  his  game. 

At  length,  it  is  said,  when  delay  had  whetted  Tom's 
eagerness  to  the  quick,  and  prepared  him  to  agree  to 
anything  rather  than  not  gain  the  promised  treasure,  he 
met  the  black  man  one  evening  in  his  usual  woodman's 
dress,  with  his  axe  on  his  shoulder,  sauntering  along  the 
swamp,  and  humming  a  tune.  He  affected  to  receive 
Tom's  advances  with  great  indifference,  made  brief  re- 
plies, and  went  on  humming  his  tune. 

By  degrees,  however,  Tom  brought  him  to  business, 
and  they  began  to  haggle  about  the  terms  on  which  the 
former  was  to  have  the  pirate's  treasure.  There  was  one 
condition  which  need  not  be  mentioned,  being  generally 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER.  461 

understood  in  all  cases  where  the  devil  grants  favors ; 
but  there  were  others  about  which,  though  of  less  im- 
portance, he  was  inflexibly  obstinate.  He  insisted  that 
the  money  found  through  his  means  should  be  employed 
in  his  service.  He  proposed,  therefore,  that  Tom  should 
employ  it  in  the  black  trajfic;  that  is  to  say,  that  he 
should  fit  out  a  slave-ship.  This,  however,  Tom  reso- 
lutely refused  :  he  was  bad  enough  in  all  conscience ;  but 
the  devil  himself  could  not  tempt  him  to  turn  slave- 
trader. 

Finding  Tom  so  squeamish  on  this  point,  he  did  not 
insist  upon  it,  but  proposed,  instead,  that  he  should  turn 
usurer  ;  the  devil  being  extremely  anxious  for  the  in- 
crease of  usurers,  looking  upon  them  as  his  peculiar 
people. 

To  this  no  objections  were  made,  for  it  was  just  to 
Tom's  taste. 

"You  shall  open  a  broker's  shop  in  Boston  next 
month,"  said  the  black  man. 

"  I'll  do  it  to-morrow,  if  you  wish,"  said  Tom  Walker. 

"  Tou  shall  lend  money  at  two  per  cent,  a  month." 

"  Egad,  I'll  charge  four!  "  replied  Tom  Walker. 

"Tou  shall  extort  bonds,  foreclose  mortgages,  drive 
the  merchants  to  bankruptcy  " 

"  I'll  drive  them  to  the  d 1,"  cried  Tom  Walker. 

"  Tou  are  the  usurer  for  my  money  !  "  said  black-legs 
with  delight.     "  When  will  you  want  the  rhino  ?  " 

"  This  very  night," 


462  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

"  Done !  "  said  the  devil. 

"  Done  !  "  said  Tom  Walker. — So  they  shook  hands 
and  struck  a  bargain. 

A  few  days'  time  saw  Tom  Walker  seated  behind  his 
desk  in  a  counting-house  in  Boston. 

His  reputation  for  a  ready-moneyed  man,  who  would 
lend  money  out  for  a  good  consideration,  soon  spread 
abroad.  Everybody  remembers  the  time  of  Governor 
Belcher,  when  money  was  particularly  scarce.  It  was  a 
time  of  paper  credit.  The  country  had  been  deluged 
with  government  bills,  the  famous  Land  Bank  had  been 
established ;  there  had  been  a  rage  for  speculating ;  the 
people  had  run  mad  with  schemes  for  new  settlements ; 
for  building  cities  in  the  wilderness  ;  land-jobbers  went 
about  with  maps  of  grants,  and  townships,  and  Eldora- 
dos,  lying  nobody  knew  where,  but  which  everybody  was 
ready  to  purchase.  In  a  word,  the  great  speculating 
fever  which  breaks  out  every  now  and  then  in  the  coun- 
try, had  raged  to  an  alarming  degree,  and  everybody  was 
dreaming  of  making  sudden  fortunes  from  nothing.  As 
usual  the  fever  had  subsided ;  the  dream  had  gone  off, 
and  the  imaginary  fortunes  with  it ;  the  patients  were 
left  in  doleful  plight,  and  the  whole  country  resounded 
with  the  consequent  cry  of  "  hard  times." 

At  this  propitious  time  of  public  distress  did  Tom 
Walker  set  up  as  usurer  in  Boston.  His  door  was  soon 
thronged  by  customers.  The  needy  and  adventurous; 
the    gambling    speculator ;  the    dreaming    land-jobber ; 


TEE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALEEB.  463 

the  thriftless  tradesman ;  the  merchant  with  cracked 
credit ;  in  short,  every  one  driven  to  raise  money  by 
desperate  means  and  desperate  sacrifices,  hurried  to  Tom 
Walker. 

Thus  Tom  was  the  universal  friend  of  the  needy,  and 
acted  like  a  "  friend  in  need  "  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  always 
exacted  good  pay  and  good  security.  In  proportion  to 
the  distress  of  the  applicant  was  the  hardness  of  his 
terms.  He  accumulated  bonds  and  mortgages  ;  gradu- 
ally squeezed  his  customers  closer  and  closer  :  and  sent 
them  at  length,  dry  as  a  sponge,  from  his  door. 

In  this  way  he  made  money  hand  over  hand ;  became  a 
rich  and  mighty  man,  and  exalted  his  cocked  hat  upon 
'Change.  He  built  himself,  as  usual,  a  vast  house,  out 
of  ostentation ;  but  left  the  greater  part  of  it  unfinished 
and  unfurnished,  out  of  parsimony.  He  even  set  up  a 
carriage  in  the  fulness  of  his  vainglory,  though  he 
nearly  starved  the  horses  which  drew  it ;  and  as  the 
ungreased  wheels  groaned  and  screeched  on  the  axle- 
trees,  you  would  have  thought  you  heard  the  souls  of  the 
poor  debtors  he  was  squeezing. 

As  Tom  waxed  old,  however,  he  grew  thoughtful. 
Having  secured  the  good  things  of  this  world,  he  began 
to  feel  anxious  about  those  of  the  next.  He  thought  with 
regret  on  the  bargain  he  had  made  with  his  black  friend, 
and  set  his  wits  to  work  to  cheat  him  out  of  the  condi- 
tions. He  became,  therefore,  all  of  a  sudden,  a  violent 
church-goer.     He  prayed  loudly  and   strenuously,  as   if 


4:64  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

heayen  were  to  be  taken  by  force  of  lungs.  Indeed,  one 
might  always  tell  when  he  had  sinned  most  during  the 
week,  by  the  clamor  of  his  Sunday  devotion.  The  quiet 
Christians  who  had  been  modestly  and  steadfastly  travel- 
ling Zionward,  were  struck  with  self-reproach  at  seeing 
themselves  so  suddenly  outstripped  in  their  career  by 
this  new-made  convert.  Tom  was  as  rigid  in  religious 
as  in  money  matters ;  he  was  a  stern  supervisor  and  cen- 
surer  of  his  neighbors,  and  seemed  to  think  every  sin 
entered  up  to  their  account  became  a  credit  on  his  own 
side  of  the  page.  He  even  talked  of  the  expediency  of 
reviving  the  persecution  of  Quakers  and.  Anabaptists.  In 
a  word,  Tom's  zeal  became  as  notorious  as  his  riches. 

Still,  in  spite  of  all  this  strenuous  attention  to  forms, 
Tom  had  a  lurking  dread  that  the  devil,  after  all,  would 
have  his  due.  That  he  might  not  be  taken  unawares, 
therefore,  it  is  said  he  always  carried  a  small  Bible  in 
his  coat-pocket.  He  had  also  a  great  folio  Bible  on  his 
counting-house  desk,  and  would  frequently  be  found  read- 
ing it  when  people  called  on  business ;  on  such  occasions 
he  would  lay  his  green  spectacles  in  the  book,  to  mark 
the  place,  while  he  turned  round  to  drive  some  usurious 
bargain. 

Some  say  that  Tom  grew  a  little  crack-brained  in  his 
old  days,  and  that,  fancying  his  end  approaching,  he  had 
his  horse  new  shod,  saddled  and  bridled,  and  buried  with 
his  feet  uppermost ;  because  he  supposed  that  at  the  last 
day  the  world  would  be  turned  upside  down ;  in  which 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER,  4^5 

case  he  should  find  his  horse  standing  ready  for  mount- 
ing, and  he  was  determined  at  the  worst  to  give  his  old 
friend  a  run  for  it.  This,  however,  is  probably  a  mere 
old  wives'  fable.  If  he  really  did  take  such  a  precaution, 
it  was  totally  superfluous  ;  at  least  so  says  the  authen- 
tic old  legend;  which  closes  his  story  in  the  following 
manner. 

One  hot  summer  afternoon  in  the  dog-days,  just  as 
a  terrible  black  thunder-gust  was  coming  up,  Tom  sat 
in  his  counting-house,  in  his  white  linen  cap  and  India 
silk  morning-gown.  He  was  on  the  point  of  foreclosing 
a  mortgage,  by  which  he  would  complete  the  ruin  of  an 
unlucky  land-speculator  for  whom  he  had  professed  the 
greatest  friendship.  The  poor  land-jobber  begged  him 
to  grant  a  few  months'  indulgence.  Tom  had  grown  testy 
and  irritated,  and  refused  another  day. 

"  My  family  will  be  ruined,  and  brought  upon  the  par- 
ish," said  the  land-jobber.  "  Charity  begins  at  home," 
replied  Tom ;  "I  must  take  care  of  myself  in  these  hard 
times." 

"  You  have  made  so  much  money  out  of  me,"  said  th© 
speculator. 

Tom  lost  his  patience  and  his  piety.  "  The  devil  take 
me,"  said  he,  "  if  I  have  made  a  farthing  !  " 

Just  then  there  were  three  loud  knocks  at  the  street- 
door.     He  stepped  out  to  see  who  was  there.    A  black 
man  was   holding   a  black   horse,   which    neighed   and 
stamped  with  impatience. 
30 


466  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

"Tom,  you*re  come  for,"  said  the  black  fellow,  gruffly. 
Tom  shrank  back,  but  too  late.  He  had  left  his  little 
Bible  at  the  bottom  of  his  coat-pocket,  and  his  big  Bible 
on  the  desk  buried  under  the  mortgage  he  was  about  to 
foreclose  :  never  was  sinner  taken  more  unawares.  The 
black  man  whisked  him  like  a  child  into  the  saddle,  gave 
the  horse  the  lash,  and  away  he  galloped,  with  Tom  on 
his  back,  in  the  midst  of  the  thunder-storm.  The  clerks 
stuck  their  pens  behind  their  ears,  and  stared  after  him 
from  the  windows.  Away  went  Tom  Walker,  dashing 
down  the  streets ;  his  white  cap  bobbing  up  and  down ; 
his  morning-gown  fluttering  in  the  wind,  and  his  steed 
striking  fire  out  of.  the  pavement  at  every  bound.  When 
the  clerks  turned  to  look  for  the  black  man,  he  had  dis- 
appeared. 

Tom  Walker  never  returned  to  foreclose  the  mortgage. 
A  countryman,  who  lived  on  the  border  of  the  swamp,  re- 
ported that  in  the  height  of  the  thunder-gust  he  had 
heard  a  great  clattering  of  hoofs  and  a  howling  along  the 
road,  and  running  to  the  window  caught  sight  of  a  figure, 
such  as  I  have  described,  on  a  horse  that  galloped  like 
mad  across  the  fields,  over  the  hills,  and  down  into  the 
black  hemlock  swamp  towards  the  old  Indian  fort ;  and 
that  shortly  after  a  thunder-bolt  falling  in  that  direction 
seemed  to  set  the  whole  forest  in  a  blaze. 

The  good  people  of  Boston  shook  their  heads  and 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  but  had  been  so  much  accus- 
tomed to  witches  and  goblins,  and  tricks  of  the  devil,  in 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER.  467 

all  kinds  of  shapes,  from  the  first  settlement  of  the  col- 
ony, that  they  were  not  so  much  horror-struck  as  might 
have  been  expected.  Trustees  were  appointed  to  take 
charge  of  Tom's  effects.  There  was  nothing,  however,  to 
administer  upon.  On  searching  his  coffers,  all  his  bonds 
and  mortgages  were  found  reduced  to  cinders.  In  place 
of  gold  and  silver,  his  iron  chest  was  filled  with  chips 
and  shavings  ;  two  skeletons  lay  in  his  stable  instead  of 
his  half-starved  horses,  and  the  very  next  day  his  great 
house  took  fire  and  was  burnt  to  the  ground. 

Such  was  the  end  of  Tom  Walker  and  his  ill-gotten 
wealth.  Let  all  griping  money -brokers  lay  this  story 
to  heart.  The  truth  of  it  is  not  to  be  doubted.  The 
very  hole  under  the  oak-trees,  whence  he  dug  Kidd's 
money,  is  to  be  seen  to  this  day ;  and  the  neighboring 
swamp  and  old  Indian  fort  are  often  haunted  in  stormy 
nights  by  a  figure  on  horseback,  in  morning-gown  and 
white  cap,  which  is  doubtless  the  troubled  spirit  of  the 
usurer.  In  fact,  the  story  has  resolved  itself  into  a 
proverb,  and  is  the  origin  of  that  popular  saying,  so  prev- 
alent throughout  New  England,  of  "  The  Devil  and  Tom 
Walker." 

Such,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  was  the  purport  of 
the  tale  told  by  the  Cape-Cod  whaler.  There  were  di- 
vers trivial  particulars  which  I  have  omitted,  and  which 
whiled  away  the  morning  very  pleasantly,  until  the  time 
of  tide  favorable  to  fishing  being  passed,  it  was  proposed 


4£8  TALES  OF  A   TBA  VELLEB, 

to  land,  and  refresh  ourselves  under  the  trees,  till  the 
noontide  heat  should  have  abated. 

We  accordingly  landed  on  a  delectable  part  of  the 
island  of  Manhatta,  in  that  shady  and  embowered  tract 
formerly  under  the  domain  of  the  ancient  family  of  the 
Hardenbrooks.  It  was  a  spot  well  known  to  me  in  the 
course  of  the  aquatic  expeditions  of  my  boyhood.  Not 
far  from  where  we  landed  there  was  an  old  Dutch  family 
vault,  constructed  in  the  side  of  a  bank,  which  had  been 
an  object  of  great  awe  and  fable  among  my  schoolboy 
associates.  We  had  peeped  into  it  during  one  of  our 
coasting  voyages,  and  been  startled  by  the  sight  of 
mouldering  coffins  and  musty  bones  within ;  but  what 
had  given  it  the  most  fearful  interest  in  our  eyes,  was  its 
being  in  some  way  connected  with  the  pirate  wreck 
which  lay  rotting  among  the  rocks  of  Hell-gate.  There 
were  stories  also  of  smuggling  connected  with  it,  particu- 
larly relating  to  a  time  when  this  retired  spot  was  owned 
by  a  noted  burgher,  called  Ready  Money  Provost ;  a  man 
of  whom  it  was  whispered  that  he  had  many  mysterious 
dealings  with  parts  beyond  the  seas.  All  these  things, 
however,  had  been  jumbled  together  in  our  minds  in  that 
vague  way  in  which  such  themes  are  mingled  up  in  the 
tales  of  boyhood. 

While  I  was  pondering  upon  these  matters,  my  com- 
panions had  spread  a  repast,  from  the  contents  of  our 
well-stored  pannier,  under  a  broad  chestnut,  on  the  green- 
sward which  swept  down  to  the  water's  edge.     Here  we 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER.  469 

solaced  ourselves  on  the  cool  grassy  carpet  during  the 
warm  sunny  hours  of  mid-day.  While  lolling  on  the 
grass,  indulging  in  that  kind  of  musing  reverie  of  which 
I  am  fond,  I  summoned  up  the  dusky  recollections  of  my 
boyhood  respecting  this  place,  and  repeated  them  like 
the  imperfectly  remembered  traces  of  a  dream,  for  the 
amusement  of  my  companions.  When  I  had  finished,  a 
worthy  old  burgher,  John  Josse  Vandermoere,  the  same 
who  on(^  related  to  me  the  adventures  of  Dolph  Hey- 
liger,  broke  silence,  and  observed,  that  he  recollected  a 
story  of  money  -  digging,  which  occurred  in  this  very 
neighborhood,  and  might  account  for  some  of  the  tradi- 
tions which  I  had  heard  in  my  boyhood.  As  we  knew 
him  to  be  one  of  the  most  authentic  narrators  in  the 
province,  we  begged  him  to  let  us  have  the  particulars, 
and  accordingly,  while  we  solaced  ourselves  with  a  clean 
long  pipe  of  Blase  Moore's  best  tobacco,  the  authentic 
John  Josse  Vandermoere  related  the  following  tale. 


WOLFEET  WEBBER,  OR  GOLDEN  DREAMS 

N  the  year  of  grace  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and — blank — for  I  do  not  remember  the  precise 
date;  however,  it  was  somewhere  in  the  early 
part  of  the  last  century,  there  lived  in  the  ancient  city  of 
the  Manhattoes  a  worthy  burgher,  Wolfert  Webber  by 
name.  He  was  descended  from  old  Cobus  Webber  of  the 
Brille  in  Holland,  one  of  the  original  settlers,  famous  for 
introducing  the  cultivation  of  cabbages,  and  who  came 
over  to  the  province  during  the  protectorship  of  Oloffe 
Yan  Kortlandt,  otherwise  called  the  Dreamer. 

The  field  in  which  Cobus  Webber  first  planted  himself 
and  his  cabbages  had  remained  ever  since  in  the  family, 
who  continued  in  the  same  line  of  husbandry,  with  that 
praiseworthy  perseverance  for  which  our  Dutch  burghers 
are  noted.  The  whole  family  genius,  during  several 
generations,  was  devoted  to  the  study  and  development 
of  this  one  noble  vegetable ;  and  to  this  concentration 
of  intellect  may  doubtless  be  ascribed  the  prodigious 
renown  to  which  the  Webber  cabbages  attained. 

The  Webber  dynasty  continued  in  uninterrupted  suc- 
cession; and  never  did  a  line  give  more  unquestionable 

470 


WOLFEBT  WEBBER.  471 

proofs  of  legitimacy.  The  eldest  son  succeeded  to  tlie 
looks,  as  well  as  the  territory  of  his  sire;  and  had  the 
portraits  of  this  line  of  tranquil  potentates  been  taken, 
they  would  have  presented  a  row  of  heads  marvellously 
resembling  in  shape  and  magnitude  the  vegetables  over 
which  they  reigned. 

The  seat  of  government  continued  unchanged  in  the 
family  mansion  : — a  Dutch-built  house,  with  a  front,  or 
rather  gable-end  of  yellow  brick,  tapering  to  a  point, 
with  the  customary  iron  weathercock  at  the  top.  Every- 
thing about  the  building  bore  the  air  of  long-settled  ease 
and  security.  Flights  of  martins  peopled  the  little 
coops  nailed  against  its  walls,  and  swallows  built  their 
nests  under  the  eaves  ;  and  every  one  knows  that  these 
house-loving  birds  bring  good  luck  to  the  dwelling 
where  they  take  up  their  abode.  In  a  bright  summer 
morning  in  early  summer,  it  was  delectable  to  hear  their 
cheerful  notes,  as  they  sported  about  in  the  pure  sweet 
air,  chirping  forth,  as  it  were,  the  greatness  and  prosper- 
ity of  the  Webbers. 

Thus  quietly  and  comfortably  did  this  excellent  family 
vegetate  under  the  shade  of  a  mighty  button-wood  tree, 
which  by  little  and  little  grew  so  great  as  entirely  to 
overshadow  their  palace.  The  city  gradually  spread  its 
suburbs  round  their  domain.  Houses  sprang  up  to  in- 
terrupt their  prospects.  The  rural  lanes  in  the  vicinity 
began  to  grow  into  the  bustle  and  populousness  of 
streets  ;  in  short,  with  all  the  habits  of  rustic  life  they 


472  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

began  to  find  themselves  the  inhabitants  of  a  city.  Still, 
however,  they  maintained  their  hereditary  character,  and 
hereditary  possessions,  with  all  the  tenacity  of  petty 
German  princes  in  the  midst  of  the  empire.  Wolfert 
was  the  last  of  the  line,  and  succeeded  to  the  patriarchal 
bench  at  the  door,  nnder  the  family  tree,  and  swayed  the 
sceptre  of  his  fathers,  a  kind  of  rural  potentate  in  the 
midst  of  the  metropolis. 

To  share  the  cares  and  sweets  of  sovereignty,  he  had 
taken  unto  himself  a  helpmate,  one  of  that  excellent  kind 
called  stirring  women ;  that  is  to  say,  she  was  one  of 
those  notable  little  housewives  who  are  always  busy 
where  there  is  nothing  to  do.  Her  activity,  however, 
took  one  particular  direction :  her  whole  life  seemed  de- 
voted to  intense  knitting ;  whether  at  home  or  abroad, 
walking  or  sitting,  her  needles  were  continually  in  motion, 
and  it  is  even  affirmed  that  by  her  unwearied  industry 
she  very  nearly  supplied  her  household  with  stockings 
throughout  the  year.  This  worthy  couple  were  blessed 
with  one  daughter,  who  was  brought  up  with  great  ten- 
derness and  care ;  uncommon  pains  had  been  taken 
with  her  education,  so  that  she  could  stitch  in  every 
variety  of  way ;  make  all  kinds  of  pickles  and  preserves, 
and  mark  her  own  name  on  a  sampler.  The  influence  of 
her  taste  was  seen  also  in  the  family  garden,  where  the 
ornamental  began  to  mingle  with  the  useful ;  whole  rows 
of  fiery  marigolds  and  splendid  hollyhocks  bordered  the 
cabbage-beds ;  and  gigantic  sunflowers  lolled  their  broad 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  473 

jolly  faces  over  the  fences,  seeming  to  ogle  most  affection  *■ 
ately  the  passers-by. 

Thus  reigned  and  vegetated  Wolfert  Webber  over  his 
paternal  acres,  peacefully  and  contentedly.  Not  but  that, 
like  all  other  sovereigns,  he  had  his  occasional  cares  and 
vexations.  The  growth  of  his  native  city  sometimes 
caused  him  annoyance.  His  little  territory  gradually  be- 
came hemmed  in  by  streets  and  houses,  which  inter- 
cepted air  and  sunshine.  He  was  now  and  then  subjected 
to  the  irruptions  of  the  border  population  that  infest  the 
streets  of  a  metropolis  ;  who  would  make  midnight  forays 
into  his  dominions,  and  carry  off  captive  whole  platoons 
of  his  noblest  subjects.  Vagrant  swine  would  make  a 
descent,  too,  now  and  then,  when  the  gate  was  left  open, 
and  lay  all  waste  before  them ;  and  mischievous  urchins 
would  decapitate  the  illustrious  sunflowers,  the  glory  of 
the  garden,  as  they  lolled  their  heads  so  fondly  over  the 
walls.  Still  all  these  were  petty  grievances,  which  might 
now  and  then  ruffle  the  surface  of  his  mind,  as  a  summer 
breeze  will  ruffle  the  surface  of  a  mill-pond  ;  but  they 
could  not  disturb  the  deep-seated  quiet  of  his  soul.  He 
would  but  seize  a  trusty  staff,  that  stood  behind  the  door, 
issue  suddenly  out,  and  anoint  the  back  of  the  aggressor, 
whether  pig  or  urchin,  and  then  return  within  doors, 
marvellously  refreshed  and  tranquillized. 

The  chief  cause  of  anxiety  to  honest  Wolfert,  however, 
was  the  growing  prosperity  of  the  city.  The  expenses  of 
living  doubled  and  trebled ;  but  he  could  not  double  and 


474  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

treble  tlie  magnitude  of  his  cabbages ;  and  the  number  of 
competitors  prevented  the  increase  of  price ;  thus,  there- 
fore, while  every  one  around  him  grew  richer,  Wolfert 
grew  poorer,  and  he  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  per- 
ceive how  the  evil  was  to  be  remedied. 

This  growing  care,  which  increased  from  day  to  day, 
had  its  gradual  effect  upon  our  worthy  burgher ;  inso- 
much, that  it  at  length  implanted  two  or  three  wrinkles 
in  his  brow ;  things  unknown  before  in  the  family  of  the 
Webbers ;  and  it  seemed  to  pinch  up  the  corners  of  his 
cocked  hat  into  an  expression  of  anxiety,  totally  opposite 
to  the  tranquil,  broad-brimmed,  low-crowned  beavers  of 
his  illustrious  progenitors. 

Perhaps  even  this  would  not  have  materially  disturbed 
the  serenity  of  his  mind,  had  he  had  only  himself  and 
his  wife  to  care  for  ;  but  there  was  his  daughter  grad- 
ually growing  to  maturity ;  and  all  the  world  knows  that 
when  daughters  begin  to  ripen,  no  fruit  nor  flower  re- 
quires so  much  looking  after.  I  have  no  talent  at  de- 
scribing female  charms,  else  fain  would  I  depict  the 
progress  of  this  little  Dutch  beauty.  How  her  blue  eyes 
grew  deeper  and  deeper,  and  her  cherry  lips  redder  and 
redder ;  and  how  she  ripened  and  ripened,  and  rounded 
and  rounded  in  the  opening  breath  of  sixteen  summers, 
until,  in  her  seventeenth  spring,  she  seemed  ready 
to  burst  out  of  her  bodice,  like  a  half-blown  rose- 
bud. 

Ah,  well-a-day  !  could  I  but  show  her  as  she  was  then, 


WOLFEBT  WEBBEB.  475 

tricked  out  on  a  Sunday  morning,  in  the  hereditary 
finery  of  the  old  Dutch  clothes-press,  of  which  her 
mother  had  confided  to  her  the  key.  The  wedding- 
dress  of  her  grandmother,  modernized  for  use,  with 
sundry  ornaments,  handed  down  as  heirlooms  in  the 
family.  Her  pale  brown  hair  smoothed  with  butter- 
milk in  flat  waving  lines  on  each  side  of  her  fair  fore- 
head. The  chain  of  yellow  virgin  gold,  that  encircled 
her  neck :  the  little  cross,  that  just  rested  at  the  en- 
trance of  a  soft  valley  of  happiness,  as  if  it  would  sanc- 
tify the  place.  The — but,  pooh ! — it  is  not  for  an  old 
man  like  me  to  be  prosing  about  female  beauty ;  suffice 
it  to  say,  Amy  had  attained  her  seventeenth  year. 
Long  since  had  her  sampler  exhibited  hearts  in  couples 
desperately  transfixed  with  arrows,  and  true  lovers' 
knots  worked  in  deep  blue  silk ;  and  it  was  evident  she 
began  to  languish  for  some  more  interesting  occupation 
than  the  rearing  of  sunflowers  or  pickling  of  cucum- 
bers. 

At  this  critical  period  of  female  existence,  when  the 
heart  within  a  damsel's  bosom,  like  its  emblem,  the  min- 
iature which  hangs  without,  is  apt  to  be  engrossed  by  a 
single  image,  a  new  visitor  began  to  make  his  appearance 
under  the  roof  of  Wolfert  "Webber.  This  was  Dirk 
Waldron,  the  only  son  of  a  poor  widow,  but  who  could 
boast  of  more  fathers  than  any  lad  in  the  province ;  for 
his  mother  had  had  four  husbands,  and  this  only  child  ; 
so  that  though  born  in  her  last  wedlock,  he  might  fairly 


476  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

claim  to  be  the  tardy  fruit  of  a  long  conrsfi  or  c-aM-v^tion. 
This  son  of  four  fathers  united  the  merits  and  the  vigor 
of  all  his  sires.  If  he  had  not  had  a  great  family  before 
him,  he  seemed  likely  to  have  a  great  one  after  him ;  for 
you  had  only  to  look  at  the  fresh  bucksome  youth,  to 
see  that  he  was  formed  to  be  the  founder  of  a  mighty 
race. 

This  youngster  gradually  became  an  intimate  visitor  of 
the  family.  He  talked  little,  but  he  sat  long.  He  filled 
the  father's  pipe  when  it  was  empty,  gathered  up  the 
mother's  knitting-needle,  or  ball  of  worsted  when  it  fell  to 
the  ground ;  stroked  the  sleek  coat  of  the  tortoise-shell 
cat,  and  replenished  the  tea-pot  for  the  daughter  from 
the  bright  copper  kettle  that  sang  before  the  fire.  All 
these  quiet  little  offices  may  seem  of  trifling  import ;  but 
when  true  love  is  translated  into  Low  Dutch,  it  is  in  this 
way  that  it  eloquently  expresses  itself.  They  were  not 
lost  upon  the  Webber  family.  The  winning  youngster 
found  marvellous  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  mother ;  the 
tortoise-shell  cat,  albeit  the  most  staid  and  demure  of 
her  kind,  gave  indubitable  signs  of  approbation  of  his 
visits  ;  the  tea-kettle  seemed  to  sing  out  a  cheering  note 
of  welcome  at  his  approach ;  and  if  the  sly  glances  of  the 
daughter  might  be  rightly  read,  as  she  sat  bridling  and 
dimpling,  and  sewing  by  her  mother's  side,  she  was  not 
a  whit  behind  Dame  "Webber,  or  grimalkin,  or  the  tea- 
kettle, in  good-will. 

Wolfert  alone  saw  nothing  of  what  was  going  on.    Pro- 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  477 

foiindly  wrapt  up  in  meditation  on  the  growth  of  the  city 
and  his  cabbages,  he  sat  looking  in  the  fire,  and  puffing 
his  pipe  in  silence.  One  night,  however,  as  the  gentle 
Amy,  according  to  custom,  lighted  her  lover  to  the 
outer  door,  and  he,  according  to  custom,  took  his  parting 
salute,  the  smack  resounded  so  vigorously  through  the 
long,  silent  entry,  as  to  startle  even  the  dull  ear  of  "Wol- 
fert.  He  was  slowly  roused  to  a  new  source  of  anxiety. 
It  had  never  entered  into  his  head  that  this  mere  child, 
who,  as  it  seemed,  but  the  other  day  had  been  climbing 
about  his  knees,  and  playing  with  dolls  and  baby-houses, 
could  all  at  once  be  thinking  of  lovers  and  matrimony. 
He  rubbed  his  eyes,  examined  into  the  fact,  and  really 
found  that,  while  he  had  been  dreaming  of  other  matters, 
she  had  actually  grown  to  be  a  woman,  and  what  was 
worse,  had  fallen  in  love.  Here  arose  new  cares  for 
Wolfert.  He  was  a  kind  father,  but  he  was  a  prudent 
man.  The  young  man  was  a  lively,  stirring  lad ;  but 
then  he  had  neither  money  nor  land.  Wolfert's  ideas  all 
ran  in  one  channel ;  and  he  saw  no  alternative  in  case  of 
a  marriage  but  to  portion  off  the  young  couple  with  a 
corner  of  his  cabbage -garden,  the  whole  of  which  was 
barely  sufficient  for  the  support  of  his  family. 

Like  a  prudent  father,  therefore,  he  determined  to  nip 
this  passion  in  the  bud,  and  forbade  the  youngster  the 
house ;  though  sorely  did  it  go  against  his  fatherly  heart, 
and  many  a  silent  tear  did  it  cause  in  the  bright  eye  of 
his   daughter.     She   showed   herself,  however,  a  pattern 


478  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

of  filial  piety  and  obedience.  Slie  never  pouted  and 
sulked  ;  slie  never  flew  in  the  face  of  parental  authority ; 
she  never  flew  into  a  passion,  nor  fell  into  hysterics,  as 
many  romantic  novel-read  young  ladies  would  do.  Not 
she,  indeed!  She  was  none  such  heroical  rebellious 
trumpery,  I'll  warrant  ye.  On  the  contrary,  she  acqui- 
esced like  an  obedient  daughter,  shut  the  street-door  in 
her  lover's  face,  and  if  ever  she  did  grant  him  an  inter- 
view, it  was  either  out  of  the  kitchen-window,  or  over 
the  garden-fence. 

Wolfert  was  deeply  cogitating  these  matters  in  his 
mind,  and  his  brow  wrinkled  with  unusual  care,  as  he 
wended  his  way  one  Saturday  afternoon  to  a  rural  inn, 
about  two  miles  from  the  city.  It  was  a  favorite  re- 
sort of  the  Dutch  part  of  the  community,  from  being 
always  held  by  a  Dutch  line  of  landlords,  and  retaining 
an  air  and  relish  of  the  good  old  times.  It  was  a  Dutch- 
built  house,  that  had  probably  been  a  country  seat  of 
some  opulent  burgher  in  the  early  time  of  the  settlement. 
It  stood  near  a  point  of  land  called  Corlear's  Hook, 
which  stretches  out  into  the  Sound,  and  against  which  the 
tide,  at  its  flux  and  reflux,  sets  with  extraordinary  rapid- 
ity. The  venerable  and  somewhat  crazy  mansion  was 
distinguished  from  afar  by  a  grove  of  elms  and  syca- 
mores that  seemed  to  wave  a  hospitable  invitation,  while 
a  few  weeping  willows,  with  their  dank,  drooping  foliage, 
resembling  falling  waters,  gave  an  idea  of  coolness,  that 
rendered  it  an  attractive  spot  during  the  heats  of  summer 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  479 

Here,  therefore,  as  I  said,  resorted  many  of  the  old  in- 
habitants of  the  Manhattoes,  where,  while  some  played 
at  shuffle -board  and  quoits  and  ninepins,  others  smoked 
a  deliberate  pipe,  and  talked  oyer  public  affairs. 

It  was  on  a  blustering  autumnal  afternoon  that  Wolfert 
made  his  yisit  to  the  inn.  The  grove  of  elms  and  willows 
was  stripped  of  its  leaves,  which  whirled  in  rustling  ed- 
dies about  the  fields.  The  ninepin  alley  was  deserted,  for 
the  premature  chilliness  of  the  day  had  driven  the  com- 
pany within  doors.  As  it  was  Saturday  afternoon,  the 
habitual  club  was  in  session,  composed  principally  of 
regular  Dutch  burghers,  though  mingled  occasionally 
with  persons  of  various  character  and  country,  as  is  nat- 
ural in  a  place  of  such  motley  population. 

Beside  the  fireplace,  in  a  huge  leather-bottomed  arm- 
chair, sat  the  dictator  of  this  little  world,  the  venerable 
Rem,  or,  as  it  was  pronounced,  Eamm  Rapelye.  He  was 
a  man  of  "Walloon  race,  and  illustrious  for  the  antiquity 
of  his  line :  his  great-grandmother  having  been  the  first 
white  child  born  in  the  province.  But  he  was  still  more 
illustrious  for  his  wealth  and  dignity :  he  had  long  filled 
the  noble  office  of  alderman,  and  was  a  man  to  whom  the 
governor  himself  took  off  his  hat.  He  had  maintained 
possession  of  the  leather-bottomed  chair  from  time  im- 
memorial ;  and  had  gradually  waxed  in  bulk  as  he  sat  in 
his  seat  of  government,  until  in  the  course  of  years  he 
filled  its  whole  magnitude.  His  word  was  decisive  with 
his  subjects ;  for  he  was  so  rich  a  man  that  he  was  nevei 


480  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

expected  to  support  any  opinion  by  argument.  The  land* 
lord  waited  on  him  with  peculiar  officiousness ;  not  that 
he  paid  better  than  his  neighbors,  but  then  the  coin  of 
a  rich  man  seems  always  to  be  so  much  more  accept- 
able. The  landlord  had  ever  a  pleasant  word  and  a  joke 
to  insinuate  in  the  ear  of  the  august  Ramm.  It  is  true, 
Ramm  never  laughed,  and,  indeed,  ever  maintained  a 
mastiff-like  gravity,  and  even  surliness  of  aspect ;  yet 
he  now  and  then  rewarded  mine  host  with  a  token  oi 
approbation  ;  which,  though  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  kind  of  grunt,  still  delighted  the  landlord  more  than 
a  broad  laugh  from  a  poorer  man. 

"  This  will  be  a  rough  night  for  the  money-diggers," 
said  mine  host,  as  a  gust  of  wind  howled  round  the 
house,  and  rattled  at  the  windows. 

"What !  are  they  at  their  works  again?  "  said  an  Eng-. 
lish  half-pay  captain,  with  one  eye,  who  was  a  very  fre- 
quent attendant  at  the  inn. 

"Aye,  are  they,"  said  the  landlord,  " and  well  may  they 
be.  They've  had  luck  of  latec  They  say  a  great  pot  o\ 
money  has  been  dug  up  in  the  fields,  just  behind  Stuy^ 
vesant's  orchard.  Folks  think  it  must  have  been  buried 
there  in  old  times,  by  Peter  Stuyvesant,  the  Dutch  gov-* 
ernor." 

"Fudge  ! "  said  the  one-eyed  man  of  war,  as  he  added 
a  small  portion  of  water  to  a  bottom  of  brandy, 

"  Well,  you  may  believe  it  or  not,  as  you  please,"  said 
mine  host,  somewhat  nettled ;   "  but   everybody  knowa 


wolf:ebt  wsbbeh.  481 

that  tlie  old  governor  buried  a  great  deal  of  his  money 
at  the  time  of  the  Dutch  troubles,  when  the  English 
red-coats  seized  on  the  province.  They  say,  too,  the  old 
gentleman  walks ;  aye,  and  in  the  very  same  dress  that 
he  wears  in  the  picture  that  hangs  up  in  the  family 
house." 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  the  half-pay  officer. 

"  Fudge,  if  you  please  ! — But  didn't  Corney  Van  Zandt 
see  him  at  midnight,  stalking  about  in  the  meadow  with 
his  wooden  leg,  and  a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  that 
flashed  like  fire?  And  what  can  he  be  walking  for,  but 
because  people  have  been  troubling  the  place  where  he 
buried  his  money  in  old  times  ?  " 

Here  the  landlord  was  interrupted  by  several  guttural 
sounds  from  Ramm  Rapelye,  betokening  that  he  was 
laboring  with  the  unusual  production  of  an  idea.  As  he 
was  too  great  a  man  to  be  slighted  by  a  prudent  publi- 
can, mine  host  respectfully  paused  until  he  should  deliver 
himself.  The  corpulent  frame  of  this  mighty  burgher 
now  gave  all  the  symptoms  of  a  volcanic  mountain  on 
the  point  of  an  eruption.  First,  there  was  a  certain  heav- 
ing of  the  abdomen,  not  unlike  an  earthquake  ;  then 
was  emitted  a  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke  from  that  crater, 
his  mouth ;  then  there  was  a  kind  of  rattle  in  the  throat, 
as  if  the  idea  were  working  its  way  up  through  a  region 
of  phlegm ;  then  there  were  several  disjointed  members 
of  a  sentence  thrown  out,  ending  in  a  cough ;  at  length 
his  voice  forced  its  way  into  a  slow,  but  absolute  tone 


482  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

of  a  man  who  feels  the  weight  of  his  purse,  if  not  of  his 
ideas ;  every  portion  of  his  speech  being  marked  by  a 
testy  puff  of  tobacco- smoke. 

"Who  talks  of  old  Peter  Stuyvesant's  walking? — puff — 
Have  people  no  respect  for  persons  ? — puff — puff — Peter 
Stuyvesant  knew  better  what  to  do  with  his  money  than 
to  bury  it — puff— I  know  the  Stuyvesant  family — puff — 
every  one  of  them — puff— not  a  more  respectable  family 
in  the  province — puff* — old  standards— puff — warm  house- 
holders— puff — none  of  your  upstarts — puff — puff — puff. 
— Don't  ta^l:  to  me  of  Peter  Stuyvesant's  walking — puff — 
p  aff — puff — puff. ' ' 

Here  the  redoubtable  Ramm  contracted  his  brow, 
clasped  up  his  mouth,  till  it  wrinkled  at  each  corner,  and 
redoubled  his  smoking  with  such  vehemence,  that  the 
cloudy  volume  soon  wreathed  round  his  head,  as  the 
smoke  envelops  the  awful  summit  of  Mount  ^tna. 

A  general  silence  followed  the  sudden  rebuke  of  this 
very  rich  man.  The  subject,  however,  was  too  interesting 
to  be  readily  abandoned.  The  conversation  soon  broke 
forth  again  from  the  lips  of  Peechy  Prauw  Yan  Hook,  the 
chronicler  of  the  club,  one  of  those  prosing,  narrative  old 
men  who  seem  to  be  troubled  with  an  incontinence  of 
words,  as  they  grow  old. 

Peechy  could,  at  any  time,  tell  as  many  stories  in  an 
evening  as  his  hearers  could  digest  in  a  month.  He  now 
resumed  the  conversation,  by  affirming  that,  to  his  knowl- 
edge, money  had,  at  different  times,  been  digged  up  in 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  483 

various  parts  of  the  island.  The  lucky  persons  who 
had  discovered  them  had  always  dreamt  of  them  three 
times  beforehand,  and  what  was  worthy  of  remark,  those 
treasures  had  never  been  found  but  by  some  descendant 
of  the  good  old  Dutch  families,  which  clearly  proved 
that  they  had  been  buried  by  Dutchmen  in  the  olden 
time. 

"Fiddlestick  with  your  Dutchmen!"  cried  the  half- 
pay  officer.  "  The  Dutch  had  nothing  to  do  with  them. 
They  were  all  buried  by  Kidd  the  pirate,  and  his  crew." 

Here  a  key-note  was  touched  that  roused  the  whole 
compan} .  The  name  of  Captain  Kidd  was  like  a  talis- 
man in  those  times,  and  was  associated  with  a  thousand 
marvellous  stories. 

The  half-pay  officer  took  the  lead,  and  in  his  narrations 
fathered  upon  Kidd  all  the  plunderings  and  exploits  of 
Morgan,  Blackbeard,  and  the  whole  list  of  bloody  buc- 
caneers. 

The  officer  was  a  man  of  great  weight  among  the  peace- 
able members  of  the  club,  by  reason  of  his  warlike  char- 
acter and  gunpowder  tales.  All  his  golden  stories  of 
Kidd,  however,  and  of  the  booty  he  had  buried,  were 
obstinately  rivalled  by  the  tales  of  Peechy  Prauw,  who, 
rather  than  suffer  his  Dutch  progenitors  to  be  eclipsed 
by  a  foreign  freebooter,  enriched  every  field  and  shore  in 
the  neighborhood  with  the  hidden  wealth  of  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant  and  his  contemporaries. 

Not  a  word  of  this  conversation  was  lost  upon  Wolfert 


4S4:  TALES  OF  A  TBA  VELLEB, 

Webber.  He  returned  pensively  home,  full  of  magnifi^ 
cent  ideas.  The  soil  of  his  native  island  seemed  to  be 
turned  into  gold  dust ;  and  every  field  to  teem  with  treas- 
ure. His  head  almost  reeled  at  the  thought  how  often 
he  must  have  heedlessly  rambled  over  places  where 
countless  sums  lay,  scarcely  covered  by  the  turf  beneath 
his  feet.  His  mind  was  in  an  uproar  with  this  whirl  of 
new  ideas.  As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  venerable  mansion 
of  his  forefathers,  and  the  little  realm  where  the  Webbers 
had  so  long,  and  so  contentedly  flourished,  his  gorge  rose 
at  the  narrowness  of  his  destiny. 

"  Unlucky  Wolfert !  "  exclaimed  he  ;  "  others  can  go  to 
bed  and  dream  themselves  into  whole  mines  of  wealth; 
they  have  but  to  seize  a  spade  in  the  morning,  and  turn 
up  doubloons  like  potatoes ;  but  thou  must  dream  of 
hardships,  and  rise  to  poverty, — must  dig  thy  field  from 
year's  end  to  year's  end,  and  yet  raise  nothing  but  cab- 
bages ! " 

Wolfert  Webber  went  to  bed  with  a  heavy  heart;  and 
it  was  long  before  the  golden  visions  that  disturbed  his 
brain  permitted  him  to  sink  into  repose.  The  same 
visions,  however,  extended  into  his  sleeping  thoughts, 
and  assumed  a  more  definite  form.  He  dreamt  that  he 
had  discovered  an  immense  treasure  in  the  centre  of  his 
garden.  At  every  stroke  of  the  spade  he  laid  bare  a 
golden  ingot ;  diamond  crosses  sparkled  out  of  the  dust ; 
bags  of  money  turned  up  their  bellies,  corpulent  with 
pieces -of -eight,   or  venerable   doubloons;    and    chests. 


WOLFEBT  WEBBER.  435 

wedged  close  with  moidores,  ducats,  and  pistareens, 
yawned  before  his  ravished  eyes,  and  vomited  forth  their 
glittering  contents. 

Wolfert  awoke  a  poorer  man  than  ever.  He  had  no 
heart  to  go  about  his  daily  concerns,  which  appeared  so 
paltry  and  profitless ;  but  sat  all  day  long  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  picturing  to  himself  ingots  and  heaps  of  gold  in 
the  fire.  The  next  night  his  dream  was  repeated.  He 
was  again  in  his  garden,  digging,  and  laying  open  stores 
of  hidden  wealth.  There  was  something  very  singular  in 
this  repetition.  He  passed  another  day  of  reverie,  and 
though  it  was  cleaning-day,  and  the  house,  as  usual  in 
Dutch  households,  completely  topsy-turvy,  yet  he  sat  un- 
moved amidst  the  general  uproar. 

The  third  night  he  went  to  bed  with  a  palpitating 
heart.  He  put  on  his  red  night-cap  wrongside  outwards, 
for  good  luck.  It  was  deep  midnight  before  his  anxious 
mind  could  settle  itself  into  sleep.  Again  the  golden 
dream  was  repeated,  and  again  he  saw  his  garden  teem- 
ing with  ingots  and  money-bags. 

"Wolfert  rose  the  next  morning  in  complete  bewilder- 
ment. A  dream,  three  times  repeated,  was  never  known 
to  lie ;  and  if  so,  his  fortune  was  made. 

In  his  agitation  he  put  on  his  waistcoat  with  the  hind 
part  before,  and  this  was  a  corroboration  of  good  luck. 
He  no  longer  doubted  that  a  huge  store  of  money  lay 
buried  somewhere  in  his  cabbage-field,  coyly  waiting  to 
be  sought  for;  and  he  repined  at  having  so  long  been 


4S6  TALE8  OF  A  TBA  VELLER. 

scratching  about  the  surface  of  the  soil  instead  of  digging 
to  the  centre. 

He  took  his  seat  at  the  breakfast-table  full  of  these 
speculations ;  asked  his  daughter  to  put  a  lump  of  gold 
into  his  tea,  and  on  handing  his  wife  a  plate  of  slap- 
jacks, begged  her  to  help  herself  to  a  doubloon. 

His  grand  care  now  was  how  to  secure  this  immense 
treasure  without  its  being  known.  Instead  of  his  work- 
ing regularly  in  his  grounds  in  the  daytime,  he  now  stole 
from  his  bed  at  night,  and  with  spade  and  pickaxe  went 
to  work  to  rip  up  and  dig  about  his  paternal  acres,  from 
one  end  to  the  other.  In  a  little  time  the  whole  garden, 
which  had  presented  such  a  goodly  and  regular  appear- 
ance, with  its  phalanx  of  cabbages,  like  a  vegetable  army 
in  battle  array,  was  reduced  to  a  scene  of  devastation; 
while  the  relentless  Wolfert,  with  night-cap  on  head, 
and  lantern  and  spade  in  hand,  stalked  through  the 
slaughtered  ranks,  the  destroying  angel  of  his  own  vege- 
table world. 

Every  morning  bore  testimony  to  the  ravages  of  the 
preceding  night  in  cabbages  of  all  ages  and  conditions, 
from  the  tender  sprout  to  the  full-grown  head,  piteously 
rooted  from  their  quiet  beds  like  worthless  weeds,  and 
left  to  wither  in  the  sunshine.  In  vain  Wolfert's  wife 
remonstrated ;  in  vain  his  darling  daughter  wept  over  the 
destruction  of  some  favorite  marigold.  "  Thou  shalt 
have  gold  of  another  guess  sort,"  he  would  cry,  chucking 
her  under  the  chin ;  *'thou  shalt  have  a  string  of  crooked 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  487 

ducats  for  tliy  wedding  necklace,  my  child."  His  family 
began  really  to  fear  that  the  poor  man's  wits  were  dis- 
eased. He  muttered  in  his  sleep  at  night  about  mines  of 
wealth,  about  pearls  and  diamonds,  and  bars  of  gold.  In 
the  daytime  he  was  moody  and  abstracted,  and  walked 
about  as  if  in  a  trace.  Dame  Webber  held  frequent  coun- 
cils with  all  the  old  women  of  the  neighborhood  ;  scarce 
an  hour  in  the  day  but  a  knot  of  them  might  be  seen 
wagging  their  white  caps  together  round  her  door,  y/hile 
the  poor  woman  made  some  piteous  recital.  The  daugh- 
ter, too,  was  fain  to  seek  for  more  frequent  consolation 
from  the  stolen  interviews  of  her  favored  swain,  Dirk 
"Waldron.  The  delectable  little  Dutch  songs,  with  which 
she  used  to  dulcify  the  house,  grew  less  and  less  fre- 
quent, and  she  would  forget  her  sewing,  and  look  wist- 
fully in  her  father's  face  as  he  sat  pondering  by  the  fire- 
side. Wolfert  caught  her  eye  one  day  fixed  on  him  thus 
anxiously,  and  for  a  moment  was  roused  from  his  golden 
reveries.  —  "Cheer  up,  my  girl,"  said  he,  exultingly ; 
"why  dost  thou  droop? — thou  shalt  hold  up  thy  head  one 
day  with  the  Brinckerhoffs  and  the  Schermerhorns,  the 
Van  Homes,  and  the  Van  Dams.  By  Saint  Nicholas,  but 
the  patroon  himself  shall  be  glad  to  get  thee  for  his  son ! " 

Amy  shook  her  head  at  his  vainglorious  boast,  and 
was  more  than  ever  in  doubt  of  the  soundness  of  the 
good  man's  intellect. 

In  the  meantime  Wolfert  went  on  digging  and  dig- 
ging ;  but  the  field  was  extensive,  and  as  his  dream  had 


488  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

indicated  no  precise  spot,  lie  had  to  dig  at  random.  The 
winter  set  in  before  one-tenth  of  the  scene  of  promise 
had  been  explored. 

The  ground  became  frozen  hard,  and  the  nights  too 
cold  for  the  labors  of  the  spade. 

No  sooner,  however,  did  the  returning  warmth  of 
spring  loosen  the  soil,  and  the  small  frogs  begin  to  pipe 
in  the  meadows,  but  Wolfert  resumed  his  labors  with 
renovated  zeal.  Still,  however,  the  hours  of  industry 
were  reversed. 

Instead  of  working  cheerily  all  day,  planting  and  set- 
ting out  his  vegetables,  he  remained  thoughtfully  idle, 
until  the  shades  of  night  summoned  him  to  his  secret 
labors.  In  this  way  he  continued  to  dig  from  night  to 
night,  and  week  to  week,  and  month  to  month,  but  not  a 
stiver  did  he  find.  On  the  contrary,  the  more  he  digged, 
the  poorer  he  grew.  The  rich  soil  of  his  garden  was 
digged  away,  and  the  sand  and  gravel  from  beneath  was 
thrown  to  the  surface,  until  the  whole  field  presented  an 
aspect  of  sandy  barrenness. 

In  the  meantime,  the  seasons  gradually  rolled  on. 
The  little  frogs  which  had  piped  in  the  meadows  in  early 
spring,  croaked  as  bull-frogs  during  the  summer  heats, 
and  then  sank  into  silence.  The  peach-tree  budded, 
blossomed,  and  bore  its  fruit.  The  swallows  and  mar- 
tins came,  twitted  about  the  roof,  built  their  nests, 
reared  their  young,  held  their  congress  along  the  eaves, 
and  then  winged  their  flight  in  search  of  another  spring. 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  489 

The  caterpillar  spun  its  winding-sheet,  dangled  in  it  from 
the  great  button-wood  tree  before  the  house;  turned 
into  a  moth,  fluttered  with  the  last  sunshine  of  summer, 
and  disappeared ;  and  finally  the  leaves  of  the  button- 
wood  tree  turned  yellow,  then  brown,  then  rustled  one 
by  one  to  the  ground,  and  whirling  about  in  little  eddies 
of  wind  and  dust,  whispered  that  winter  was  at  hand. 

Wolfert  gradually  woke  from  his  dream  of  wealth  as 
the  year  declined.  He  had  reared  no  crop  for  the  supply 
of  his  household  during  the  sterility  of  winter.  The 
season  was  long  and  severe,  and  for  the  first  time  the 
family  was  really  straitened  in  its  comforts.  By  degrees 
a  revulsion  of  thought  took  place  in  Wolfert' s  mind, 
common  to  those  whose  golden  dreams  have  been  dis- 
turbed by  pinching  realities.  The  idea  gradually  stole 
upon  him  that  he  should  come  to  want.  He  already  con- 
sidered himself  one  of  the  most  unfortunate  men  in  the 
province,  having  lost  such  an  incalculable  amount  of*  un- 
discovered treasure,  and  now,  when  thousands  of  pounds 
had  eluded  his  search,  to  be  perplexed  for  shillings  and 
pence,  was  cruel  in  the  extreme. 

Haggard  care  gathered  about  his  brow ;  he  went  about 
with  a  money-seeking  air,  his  eyes  bent  downwards  into 
the  dust,  and  carrying  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  as  men 
are  apt  to  do  when  they  have  nothing  else  to  put  into 
them.  He  could  not  even  pass  the  city  almshouse  with- 
out giving  it  a  rueful  glance,  as  if  destined  to  be  his 
future  abode. 


490  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLEB. 

The  strangeness  of  his  conduct  and  of  his  looks  occa- 
sioned much  speculation  and  remark.  For  a  long  time 
he  was  suspected  of  being  crazy,  and  then  everybody 
pitied  him ;  and  at  length  it  began  to  be  suspected  that 
he  was  poor,  and  then  everybody  avoided  him. 

The  rich  old  burghers  of  his  acquaintance  met  him 
outside  of  the  door  when  he  called,  entertained  him  hos- 
pitably on  the  threshold,  pressed  him  warmly  by  the 
hand  at  parting,  shook  their  heads  as  he  walked  away, 
with  the  kind-hearted  expression  of  *'  poor  Wolfert,"  and 
turned  a  corner  nimbly  if  by  chance  they  saw  him  ap- 
proaching as  they  walked  the  streets.  Even  the  barber 
and  the  cobbler  of  the  neighborhood,  and  a  tattered 
tailor  in  an  alley  hard  by,  three  of  the  poorest  and  mer- 
riest rogues  in  the  world,  eyed  him  with  that  abundant 
sympathy  which  usually  attends  a  lack  of  means  ;  and 
there  is  not  a  doubt  but  their  pockets  would  have  been 
at  his  command,  only  that  they  happened  to  be  empty. 

Thus  everybody  deserted  the  Webber  mansion,  as  if 
poverty  were  contagious,  like  the  plague  ;  everybody  but 
honest  Dirk  Waldron,  who  still  kept  up  his  stolen  visits 
to  the  daughter,  and  indeed  seemed  to  wax  more  affec- 
tionate as  the  fortunes  of  his  mistress  were  in  the  wane. 

Many  months  had  elapsed  since  Wolfert  had  fre- 
quented his  old  resort,  the  rural  inn.  He  was  taking  a 
long  lonely  walk  one  Saturday  afternoon,  musing  over 
his  wants  and  disappointments,  when  his  feet  took  in- 
stinctively their  wonted  direction,  and  on  awaking  out  of 


WOLFERT  WEBBER,  491 

a  reverie,  lie  found  himself  before  tlie  door  of  the  inn. 
For  some  moments  lie  hesitated  whether  to  enter,  but 
his  heart  yearned  for  companionship ;  and  where  can  a 
ruined  man  find  better  companionship  than  at  a  tavern, 
where  there  is  neither  sober  example  nor  sober  advice  to 
put  him  out  of  countenance  ? 

Wolfert  found  several  of  the  old  frequenters  of  the  inn 
at  their  usual  posts,  and  seated  in  their  usual  places ; 
but  one  was  missing,  the  great  Ramm  Rapelye,  who  for 
many  years  had  filled  the  leather-bottomed  chair  of  state. 
His  place  was  supplied  by  a  stranger,  who  seemed,  how- 
ever, completely  at  home  in  the  chair  and  the  tavern. 
He  was  rather  under  size,  but  deep-chested,  square,  and 
muscular.  His  broad  shoulders,  double  joints,  and  bow 
knees,  gave  tokens  of  prodigious  strength.  His  face  was 
dark  and  weather-beaten ;  a  deep  scar,  as  if  from  the 
slash  of  a  cutlass,  had  almost  divided  his  nose,  and  made 
a  gash  in  his  upper  lip,  through  which  his  teeth  shone 
like  a  bull-dog's.  A  mop  of  iron-gray  hair  gave  a  grisly 
finish  to  this  hard-favored  visage.  His  dress  was  of  an 
amphibious  character.  He  wore  an  old  hat  edged  with 
tarnished  lace,  and  cocked  in  martial  style,  on  one  side 
of  his  head  ;  a  rusty  blue  military  coat  with  brass  but- 
tons, and  a  wide  pair  of  short  petticoat  trousers,  or  rather 
breeches,  for  they  were  gathered  up  at  the  knees.  He 
ordered  everybody  about  him  with  an  authoritative  air ; 
talking  in  a  brattling  voice,  that  sounded  like  the  crack- 
ling  of  thorns  under  a  pot ;  d d   the  landlord  and 


4:92  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

servants  with  perfect  impunity,  and  was  waited  upon 
with  greater  obsequiousness  than  had  ever  been  shown 
to  the  mighty  Eamm  himself. 

Wolfe rt's  curiosity  was  awakened  to  know  who  and 
what  was  this  stranger  who  had  thus  usurped  absolute 
sway  in  this  ancient  domain.  Peechy  Prauw  took  him 
aside,  into  a  remote  corner  of  the  hall,  and  there,  in  an 
under  voice,  and  with  great  caution,  imparted  to  him  all 
that  he  knew  on  the  subject.  The  inn  had  been  aroused 
several  months  before,  on  a  dark  stormy  night,  by  re- 
peated long  shouts,  that  seemed  like  the  howlings  of  a 
wolf.  They  came  from  the  water-side,  and  at  length  were 
distinguished  to  be  hailing  the  house  in  the  sea-faring 
manner,  "  House-a-hoy  !  "  The  landlord  turned  out  with 
his  head  waiter,  tapster,  hostler,  and  errand-boy, — that  is 
to  say,  with  his  old  negro  Cuff.  On  approaching  the 
place  whence  the  voice  proceeded,  they  found  this  am- 
phibious-looking personage  at  the  water's  edge,  quite 
alone,  and  seated  on  a  great  oaken  sea-chest.  How  he 
came  there,  whether  he  had  been  set  on  shore  from  some 
boat,  or  had  floated  to  land  on  his  chest,  nobody  could 
tell,  for  he  did  not  seem  disposed  to  answer  questions ; 
and  there  was  something  in  his  looks  and  manners  that 
put  a  stop  to  all  questioning.  Suffice  it  to  say,  he  took 
possession  of  a  corner-room  of  the  inn,  to  which  his  chest 
was  removed  with  great  difficulty.  Here  he  had  re- 
mained ever  since,  keeping  about  the  inn  and  its  vicinity. 
Sometimes,  it  is   true,  he  disappeared  for  one,  two,  or 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  493 

three  days  at  a  time,  going  and  returning  without  giving 
any  notice  or  account  of  his  movements.  He  always  ap- 
peared to  have  plenty  of  money,  though  often  of  very 
strange  outlandish  coinage  ;  and  he  regularly  paid  his 
bill  every  evening  before  turning  in. 

He  had  fitted  up  his  room  to  his  own  fancy,  having 
slung  a  hammock  from  the  ceiling  instead  of  a  bed,  and 
decorated  the  walls  with  rusty  pistols  and  cutlasses  of 
foreign  workmanship.  A  greater  part  of  his  time  was 
passed  in  this  room,  seated  by  the  window,  which  com- 
manded a  wide  view  of  the  Sound,  a  short  old-fashioned 
pipe  in  his  mouth,  a  glass  of  rum-toddy  at  his  elbow, 
and  a  pocket-telescope  in  his  hand,  with  which  he  recon- 
noitred every  boat  that  moved  upon  the  water.  Large 
square-rigged  vessels  seemed  to  excite  but  little  atten- 
tion ;  but  the  moment  he  descried  anything  with  a 
shoulder-of-mutton  sail,  or  that  a  barge,  or  yawl,  or 
jolly-boat  hove  in  sight,  up  went  the  telescope,  and  he 
examined  it  with  the  most  scrupulous  attention. 

All  this  might  have  passed  without  much  notice,  for  in 
those  times  the  province  was  so  much  the  resort  of 
adventurers  of  all  characters  and  climes,  that  any  oddity 
in  dress  or  behavior  attracted  but  small  attention.  In 
a  little  while,  however,  this  strange  sea -monster,  thus 
strangely  cast  upon  dry  land,  began  to  encroach  upon 
the  long-established  customs  and  customers  of  the  place, 
and  to  interfere  in  a  dictatorial  manner  in  the  affairs 
of  the  ninepin  alley  and  the  bar-room,  until  in  the  end 


494  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLEB. 

lie  usurped  an  absolute  command  over  the  whole  inn. 
It  was  all  in  vain  to  attempt  to  withstand  his  authority. 
He  was  not  exactly  quarrelsome,  but  boisterous  and 
peremptory,  like  one  accustomed  to  tyrannize  on  a  quar- 
ter-deck ;  and  there  was  a  dare-devil  air  about  every- 
thing he  said  and  did,  that  inspired  wariness  in  all  by- 
standers. Even  the  half-pay  officer,  so  long  the  hero 
of  the  club,  was  soon  silenced  by  him  ;  and  the  quiet 
burghers  stared  with  wonder  at  seeing  their  inflammable 
man  of  war  so  readily  and  quietly  extinguished. 

And  then  the  tales  that  he  would  tell  were  enough 
to  make  a  peaceable  man's  hair  stand  on  end.  There 
was  not  a  sea-fight,  nor  marauding  nor  freebooting 
adventure  that  had  happened  within  the  last  twenty 
years,  but  he  seemed  perfectly  versed  in  it.  He  de- 
lighted to  talk  of  the  exploits  of  the  buccaneers  in  the 
"West  Indies,  and  on  the  Spanish  Main.  How  his  eyes 
would  glisten  as  he  described  the  waylaying  of  treasure- 
ships,  the  desperate  fights,  yard-arm  and  yard-arm — 
broadside  and  broadside  —  the  boarding  and  captur- 
ing huge  Spanish  galleons  !  With  what  chuckling  relish 
would  he  describe  the  descent  upon  some  rich  Spanish 
colony  ;  the  rifling  of  a  church  ;  the  sacking  of  a  con- 
vent !  You  would  have  thought  you  heard  some  gor- 
mandizer dilating  upon  the  roasting  of  a  savory  goose 
at  Michaelmas  as  he  described  the  roasting  of  some 
Spanish  Don  to  make  him  discover  his  treasure,  —  a 
detail  given  with   a  minuteness   that  made   every  rich 


WOLFERT  WEBBmJB.  495 

old  burgher  present  turn  uncomfortable  in  his  chair. 
All  this  would  be  told  with  infinite  glee,  as  if  he  con- 
sidered it  an  excellent  joke  ;  and  then  he  would  give  such 
a  tyrannical  leer  in  the  face  of  his  next  neighbor,  that 
the  poor  man  would  be  fain  to  laugh  out  of  sheer  faint- 
heartedness. If  any  one,  however,  pretended  to  contra- 
dict him  in  any  of  his  stories,  he  was  on  fire  in  an 
instant.  His  very  cocked  hat  assumed  a  momentary 
fierceness,  and  seemed  to  resent  the  contradiction. 
"  How  the  devil  should  you  know  as  well  as  I  ? — I  tell 
you  it  was  as  I  say ; "  and  he  would  at  the  same  time 
let  slip  a  broadside  of  thundering  oaths  and  tremen- 
dous sea-phrases,  such  as  had  never  been  heard  before 
within  these  peaceful  walls. 

Indeed,  the  worthy  burghers  began  to  surmise  that  he 
knew  more  of  those  stories  than  mere  hearsay.  Day 
after  day  their  conjectures  concerning  him  grew  more 
and  more  wild  and  fearful.  The  strangeness  of  his  ar- 
rival, the  strangeness  of  his  manners,  the  mystery  that 
surrounded  him,  all  made  him  something  incomprehen- 
sible in  their  eyes.  He  was  a  kind  of  monster  of  the 
deep  to  them — ^he  was  a  merman — he  was  a  behemoth — 
he  was  a  leviathan — in  short,  they  knew  not  what  he 
was. 

The  domineering  spirit  of  this  boisterous  sea-urchin 
at  length  grew  quite  intolerable.  He  was  no  respecter 
of  persons ;  he  contradicted  the  richest  burghers  with- 
out hesitation  ;  he  took  possession  of  the  sacred  elbow- 


496  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

chair,  which,  time  out  of  mind,  had  been  the  seat  of 
sovereignty  of  the  illustrious  Ramm  Rapelye.  Nay,  he 
even  went  so  far,  in  one  of  his  rough  jocular  moods,  as 
to  slap  that  mighty  burgher  on  the  back,  drink  his 
toddy,  and  wink  in  his  face,  a  thing  scarcely  to  be 
believed.  From  this  time  Ramm  Rapelye  appeared  no 
more  at  the  inn;  his  example  was  followed  by  several 
of  the  most  eminent  customers,  who  were  too  rich  to 
tolerate  being  bullied  out  of  their  opinions,  or  being 
obliged  to  laugh  at  another  man's  jokes.  The  landlord 
was  almost  in  despair  ;  but  he  knew  not  how  to  get  rid 
of  this  sea-monster  and  his  sea-chest,  who  seemed  both 
to  have  grown  like  fixtures,  or  excrescences,  on  his  es- 
tablishment. 

Such  was  the  account  whispered  cautiously  in  Wol- 
fert's  ear,  by  the  narrator,  Peechy  Prauw,  as  he  held 
him  by  the  button  in  a  corner  of  the  hall,  casting  a 
wary  glance  now  and  then  towards  the  door  of  the  bar- 
room, lest  he  should  be  overheard  by  the  terrible  hero 
of  his  tale. 

Wolfert  took  his  seat  in  a  remote  part  of  the  room  in 
silence ;  impressed  with  profound  awe  of  this  unknown, 
so  versed  in  freebooting  history.  It  was  to  him  a  won- 
derful instance  of  the  revolutions  of  mighty  empires,  to 
find  the  venerable  Ramm  Rapelye  thus  ousted  from  the 
throne,  and  a  rugged  tarpauling  dictating  from  his  elbow- 
chair,  hectoring  the  patriarchs,  and  filling  this  tranquil 
little  realm  with  brawl  and  bravado. 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  491 

The  stranger  was  on  this  evening  in  a  more  than  usu- 
ally communicatiye  mood,  and  was  narrating  a  number 
of  astounding  stories  of  plunderings  and  burnings  on  the 
high  seas.  He  dwelt  upon  them  with  peculiar  relish, 
heightening  the  frightful  particulars  in  proportion  to 
their  effect  on  his  peaceful  auditors.  He  gave  a  swag- 
gering detail  of  the  capture  of  a  Spanish  merchantman. 
She  was  lying  becalmed  during  a  long  summer's  day, 
just  off  from  the  island  which  was  one  of  the  lurking- 
places  of  the  pirates.  They  had  reconnoitred  her  with 
their  spy-glasses  from  the  shore,  and  ascertained  her 
character  and  force.  At  night  a  picked  crew  of  daring 
fellows  set  off  for  her  in  a  whale-boat.  They  approached 
with  muffled  oars,  as  she  lay  rocking  idly  with  the  undu- 
lations of  the  sea,  and  her  sails  flapping  against  the 
masts.  They  were  close  under  the  stern  before  the 
guard  on  deck  was  aware  of  their  approach.  The  alarm 
was  given;  the  pirates  threw  hand-grenades  on  deck, 
and  sprang  up  the  main  chains,  sword  in  hand. 

The  crew  flew  to  arms,  but  in  great  confusion ;  some 
were  shot  down,  others  took  refuge  in  the  tops  ;  others 
were  driven  overboard  and  drowned,  while  others  fought 
hand  to  hand  from  the  main-deck  to  the  quarter-deck, 
disputing  gallantly  every  inch  of  ground.  There  were 
three  Spanish  gentlemen  on  board  with  their  ladies,  who 
made  the  most  desperate  resistance.  They  defended  the 
companion-way,  cut  down  several  of  their  assailants,  and 
fought  like  very  devils,  for  they  were  maddened  by  the 
32 


498  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLEB. 

shrieks  of  the  ladies  from  the  cabin.  One  of  the  Dona 
was  old,  and  soon  dispatched.  The  other  two  kept  their 
ground  vigorously,  even  though  the  captain  of  the  pirates 
was  among  their  assailants.  Just  then  there  was  a  shout 
of  victory  from  the  main-deck.  "  The  ship  is  ours !  '* 
cried  the  pirates. 

One  of  the  Dons  immediately  dropped  his  sword  and 
surrendered ;  the  other,  who  was  a  hot-headed  young- 
ster, and  just  married,  gave  the  captain  a  slash  in  the 
face  that  laid  all  open.  The  captain  just  made  out  to 
articulate  the  words  "no  quarter." 

"  And  what  did  they  do  with  their  prisoners  ?  "  said 
Peechy  Prauw,  eagerly. 

"  Threw  them  all  overboard,"  was  the  answer.  A  dead 
pause  followed  the  reply.  Peechy  Prauw  sunk  quietly 
back,  like  a  man  who  had  unwarily  stolen  upon  the  lair 
of  a  sleeping  lion.  The  honest  burghers  cast  fearful 
glances  at  the  deep  scar  slashed  across  the  visage  of  the 
stranger,  and  moved  their  chairs  a  little  farther  off.  The 
seaman,  however,  smoked  on  without  moving  a  muscle, 
as  though  he  either  did  not  perceive  or  did  not  regard 
the  unfavorable  effect  he  had  produced  upon  his  hearers. 

The  half-pay  officer  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence ; 
for  he  was  continually  tempted  to  make  ineffectual  head 
against  this  tyrant  of  the  seas,  and  to  regain  his  lost  con- 
sequence in  the  eyes  of  his  ancient  companions.  He 
now  tried  to  match  the  gunpowder  tales  of  the  stranger 
by  others  equally  tremendous.     Kidd,  as  usual,  was  his 


WOLFEUT  WEBBEH.  499 

hero,  concerning  whom  he  seemed  to  have  picked  up 
many  of  the  floating  traditions  of  the  province.  The 
seaman  had  always  evinced  a  settled  pique  against  the 
one-eyed  warrior.  On  this  occasion  he  listened  with 
peculiar  impatience.  He  sat  with  one  arm  akimbo,  the 
other  elbow  on  the  table,  the  hand  holding  on  to  the 
small  pipe  he  was  pettishly  piaffing ;  his  legs  crossed ; 
drumming  with  one  foot  on  the  ground,  and  casting 
every  now  and  then  the  side-glance  of  a  basilisk  at  the 
prosing  captain.  At  length  the  latter  spoke  of  Kidd's 
having  ascended  the  Hudson  with  some  of  his  crew  to 
land  his  plunder  in  secrecy. 

"  Kidd  up  the  Hudson !  "  burst  forth  the  seaman,  with 
a  tremendous  oath, — "  Kidd  never  was  up  the  Hudson !  " 

"I  tell  you  he  was,"  said  the  other.  "Aye,  and  they 
say  he  buried  a  quantity  of  treasure  on  the  little  flat  that 
runs  out  into  the  river,  called  the  Devil's  Dans  Kam- 
mer." 

"  The  Devil's  Dans  Kammer  in  your  teeth  ! "  cried  the 
seaman.  "I  tell  you  Kidd  never  was  up  the  Hudson. 
What  a  plague  do  you  know  of  Kidd  and  his  haunts  ?  " 

"What  do  I  know?"  echoed  the  half -pay  officer. 
"Why,  I  was  in  London  at  the  time  of  his  trial;  aye, 
and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  hanged  at  Execu- 
tion Dock." 

"  Then,  sir,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  saw  as  pretty  a 
fellow  hanged  as  ever  trod  shoe-leather.  Aye  !  "  putting 
his  face  nearer  to  that  of  the  officer,  "  and  there  was 


500  TALES  OF  A    TRAVELLER. 

many  a  land-lubber  looked  on  that  might  much  better 
have  swung  in  his  stead." 

The  half-pay  officer  was  silenced ;  but  the  indignation 
thus  pent  up  in  his  bosom  glowed  with  intense  vehe- 
mence in  his  single  eye,  which  kindled  like  a  coal. 

Peechy  Prauw,  who  never  could  remain  silent,  ob- 
served that  the  gentleman  certainly  was  in  the  right. 
Kidd  never  did  bury  money  up  the  Hudson,  nor  indeed 
in  any  of  those  parts,  though  many  affirmed  such  to  be 
the  fact.  It  was  Bradish  and  others  of  the  buccaneers 
who  had  buried  money ;  some  said  in  Turtle  Bay,  others 
on  Long  Island,  others  in  the  neighborhood  of  Hell-gate. 
Indeed,  added  he,  I  recollect  an  adventure  of  Sam,  the 
negro  fisherman,  many  years  ago,  which  some  think  had 
something  to  do  with  the  buccaneers.  As  we  are  all 
friends  here,  and  as  it  will  go  no  further,  I'll  tell  it  to 
you. 

"  Upon  a  dark  night  many  years  ago,  as  Black  Sam 
was  returning  from  fishing  in  Hell-gate  " — 

Here  the  story  was  nipped  in  the  bud  by  a  sudden 
movement  from  the  unknown,  who  laying  his  iron  fist  on 
the  table,  knuckles  downward,  with  a  quiet  force  that 
indented  the  very  boards,  and  looking  grimly  over  his 
shoulder,  with  the  grin  of  an  angry  bear, — "  Heark'ee, 
neighbor,"  said  he,  with  significant  nodding  of  the  head, 
"  you'd  better  let  the  buccaneers  and  their  money 
alone, — they're  not  for  old  men  and  old  women  to  med- 
dle with.      They   fought  hard    for   their  money ;    they 


WOLFEBT  WEBBER.  501 

gave  body  and  soul  for  it ;  and  wherever  it  lies  buried, 
depend  upon  it  he  must  have  a  tug  with  the  devil  who 
gets  it !  " 

This  sudden  explosion  was  succeeded  by  a  blank, 
silence  throughout  the  room.  Peechy  Prauw  shrunk 
within  himself,  and  even  the  one-eyed  officer  turned  pale. 
Wolfert,  who  from  a  dark  corner  of  the  room  had  listened 
with  intense  eagerness  to  all  this  talk  about  buried  trea- 
sure, looked  with  mingled  awe  and  reverence  at  this 
bold  buccaneer ;  for  such  he  really  suspected  him  to  be. 
There  was  a  chinking  of  gold  and  a  sparkling  of  jewels  in 
all  his  stories  about  the  Spanish  Main  that  gave  a  value 
to  every  period  ;  and  Wolfert  would  have  given  anything 
for  the  rummaging  of  the  ponderous  sea-chest,  which  his 
imagination  crammed  full  of  golden  chalices,  crucifixes, 
and  jolly  round  bags  of  doubloons. 

The  dead  stillness  that  had  fallen  upon  the  company 
was  at  length  interrupted  by  the  stranger,  who  pulled  out 
a  prodigious  watch  of  curious  and  ancient  workmanship, 
and  which  in  "Wolfert's  eyes  had  a  decidedly  Spanish 
look.  On  touching  a  spring  it  struck  ten  o'clock  ;  upon 
which  the  sailor  called  for  his  reckoning,  and  having 
paid  it  out  of  a  handful  of  outlandish  coin,  he  drank  off 
the  remainder  of  his  beverage,  and  without  taking  leave 
of  any  one,  rolled  out  of  the  room,  muttering  to  himself, 
as  he  stamped  up-stairs  to  his  chamber. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  company  could  recover 
from  the  silence  into  which  they  had  been  thrown.     The 


502  TALE8  OF  A  TBAVELLEB. 

very  footsteps  of  the  stranger,  whicli  were  heard  now  and 
then  as  he  traversed  his  chamber,  inspired  awe. 

Still  the  conversation  in  which  they  had  been  engaged 
was  too  interesting  not  to  be  resumed.  A  heavy  thunder^ 
gust  had  gathered  up  unnoticed,  while  they  were  lost  in 
talk,  and  the  torrents  of  rain  that  fell  forbade  all 
thoughts  of  setting  off  for  home  until  the  storm  should 
subside.  They  drew  nearer  together,  therefore,  and  en- 
treated the  worthy  Peechy  Prauw  to  continue  the  tale 
which  had  been  so  discourteously  interrupted.  He 
readily  complied,  whispering,  however,  in  a  tone  scarcely 
above  his  breath,  and  drowned  occasionally  by  the  roll- 
ing of  the  thunder ;  and  he  would  pause  every  now  and 
then,  and  listen  with  evident  awe,  as  he  heard  the  heavy 
footsteps  of  the  stranger  pacing  overhead. 

The  following  is  the  purport  of  his  story : 


ADVENTUEE  OF  THE  BLACK  FISHEEMAN. 


YEEYBODY  knows  Black  Sam,  the  old  negro 
fisherman,  or,  as  he  is  commonly  called,  Mud 
Sam,  who  has  fished  about  the  Sound  for  the 
last  half  century.  It  is  now  many  years  since  Sam,  who 
was  then  as  active  a  young  negro  as  any  in  the  province, 
and  worked  on  the  farm  of  Killian  Suydam  on  Long 
Island,  having  finished  his  day's  w^ork  at  an  early  hour, 
was  fishing,  one  still  summer  evening,  just  about  the 
neighborhood  of  Hell-gate. 

He  was  in  a  light  skiff;  and  being  well  acquainted 
with  the  currents  and  eddies,  had  shifted  his  station 
according  to  the  shifting  of  the  tide,  from  the  Hen  and 
Chickens  to  the  Hog's  Back,  from  the  Hog's  Back  to  the 
Pot,  and  from  the  Pot  to  the  Frying-Pan;  but  in  the 
eagerness  of  his  sport  he  did  not  see  that  the  tide  was 
rapidly  ebbing,  until  the  roaring  of  the  whirlpools  and 
eddies  warned  him  of  his  danger ;  and  he  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  shooting  his  skiff  from  among  the  rocks  and 
breakers,  and  getting  to  the  point  of  Blackwell's  Island. 
Here  he  cast  anchor  for  some  time,  waiting  the  turn  of 
the  tide  to   enable  him  to  return  homewards.     As  the 

503 


504  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

niglit  set  in,  it  grew  blustering  and  gusty.  Dark  clouds 
came  bundling  up  in  the  west ;  and  now  and  tlien  a  growl 
of  thunder  or  a  flash  of  lightning  told  that  a  summer 
storm  was  at  hand.  Sam  pulled  over,  therefore,  under 
the  lee  of  Manhattan  Island,  and  coasting  along,  came  to 
a  snug  nook,  just  under  a  steep  beetling  rock,  where  he 
fastened  his  skiff  to  the  root  of  a  tree  that  shot  out  from 
a  cleft,  and  spread  its  broad  branches  like  a  canopy  over 
the  water.  The  gust  came  scouring  along;  the  wind 
threw  up  the  river  in  white  surges  ;  the  rain  rattled 
among  the  leaves  ;  the  thunder  bellowed  worse  than  that 
which  is  now  bellowing ;  the  lightning  seemed  to  lick  up 
the  surges  of  the  stream ;  but  Sam,  snugly  sheltered 
under  rock  and  tree,  lay  crouching  in  his  skiff,  rocking 
upon  the  billows  until  he  fell  asleep.  When  he  woke 
all  was  quiet.  The  gust  had  passed  away,  and  only  now 
and  then  a  faint  gleam  of  lightning  in  the  east  showed 
which  way  it  had  gone.  The  night  was  dark  and  moon- 
less ;  and  from  the  state  of  the  tide  Sam  concluded  it  was 
near  midnight.  He  was  on  the  point  of  making  loose 
his  skiff  to  return  homewards,  when  he  saw  a  light 
gleaming  along  the  water  from  a  distance,  which  seemed 
rapidly  approaching.  As  it  drew  near  he  perceived  it 
came  from  a  lantern  in  the  bow  of  a  boat  gliding  along 
under  shadow  of  the  land.  It  pulled  up  in  a  small  cove, 
close  to  where  he  was.  A  man  jumped  on  shore,  and 
searching  about  with  the  lantern,  exclaimed,  "This  is  the 
place— here's  the  iron  ring."     The  boat  was  then  made 


TBE  BLACK  FISHERMAN.  505 

fast,  and  the  man  returning  on  board,  assisted  liis  com- 
rades in  conveying  something  heavy  on  shore.  As  the 
light  gleamed  among  them,  Sam  saw  that  they  were  ^\q 
stout  desperate-looking  fellows,  in  red  woollen  caps,  with 
a  leader  in  a  three-cornered  hat,  and  that  some  of  them 
were  armed  with  dirks,  or  long  knives,  and  pistols.  They 
talked  low  to  one  another,  and  occasionally  in  some  out- 
landish tongue  which  he  could  not  understand. 

On  landing  they  made  their  way  among  the  bushes, 
taking  turns  to  relieve  each  other  in  lugging  their  bur- 
den up  the  rocky  bank.  Sam's  curiosity  was  now  fully 
aroused  ;  so  leaving  his  skiff  he  clambered  silently  up 
a  ridge  that  overlooked  their  path.  They  had  stopped 
to  rest  for  a  moment,  and  the  leader  was  looking  about 
among  the  bushes  with  his  lantern.  "  Have  you  brought 
the  spades  ?  "  said  one.  "  They  are  here,"  replied  an- 
other, who  had  them  on  his  shoulder.  "We  must  dig 
deep,  where  there  will  be  no  risk  of  discovery,"  said  a 
third. 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  Sam's  veins.  He  fancied  he 
saw  before  him  a  gang  of  murderers,  about  to  bury 
their  victim.  His  knees  smote  together.  In  his  agita- 
tion he  shook  the  branch  of  a  tree  with  which  he  was 
supporting  himself  as  he  looked  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  cried  one  of  the  gang. — "  Some  one 
stirs  among  the  bushes  !  " 

The  lantern  was  held  up  in  the  direction  of  the  noise. 
One  of  the  red-caps  cocked  a  pistol,  and  pointed  it  to- 


506  TALES  OF  A  TBA  TELLER. 

wards  the  very  place  wliere  Sam  was  standing.  He 
stood  motionless — breathless  ;  expecting  the  next  mo- 
ment to  be  his  last.  Fortunately  his  dingy  complexion 
was  in  his  favor,  and  made  no  glare  among  the  leaves. 

"  'Tis  no  one,"  said  the  man  with  the  lantern.  "  What 
a  plague !  you  would  not  fire  off  your  pistol  and  alarm 
the  country !  " 

The  pistol  was  uncocked ;  the  burden  was  resumed,  and 
the  party  slowly  toiled  along  the  bank.  Sam  watched 
them  as  they  went ;  the  light  sending  back  fitful  gleams 
through  the  dripping  bushes,  and  it  was  not  till  they 
were  fairly  out  of  sight  that  he  ventured  to  draw  breath 
freely.  He  now  thought  of  getting  back  to  his  boat, 
and  making  his  escape  out  of  the  reach  of  such  danger- 
ous neighbors  ;  but  curiosity  was  all-powerful.  He  hesi- 
tated and  lingered  and  listened.  By  and  by  he  heard  the 
strokes  of  spades. — "  They  are  digging  the  grave ! "  said 
he  to  himself ;  and  the  cold  sweat  started  upon  his  fore- 
head. Every  stroke  of  a  spade,  as  it  sounded  through  the 
silent  groves,  went  to  his  heart ;  it  was  evident  there  was 
as  little  noise  made  as  possible ;  everything  had  an  air 
of  terrible  mystery  and  secrecy.  Sam  had  a  great  rel- 
ish for  the  horrible, — a  tale  of  murder  was  a  treat  for 
him ;  and  he  was  a  constant  attendant  at  executions. 
He  could  not  resist  an  impulse,  in  spite  of  every  dan- 
ger, to  steal  nearer  to  the  scene  of  mystery,  and  overlook 
the  midnight  fellows  at  their  work.  He  crawled  along 
cautiously,  therefore,  inch  by  inch;  stepping  with  the 


THE  BLACK  FISHERMAN.  507 

utmost  care  among  tlie  dry  leaves,  lest  their  rustling 
should  betray  him.  He  came  at  length  to  where  a  steep 
rock  intervened  between  him  and  the  gang ;  for  he  saw 
the  light  of  their  lantern  shining  up  against  the  branches 
of  the  trees  on  the  other  side.  Sam  slowly  and  silently 
clambered  up  the  surface  of  the  rock,  and  raising  his 
head  above  its  naked  edge,  beheld  the  villains  imme- 
diately below  him,  and  so  near,  that  though  he  dreaded 
discovery,  he  dared  not  withdraw  lest  the  least  movement 
should  be  heard.  In  this  way  he  remained,  with  his 
round  black  face  peering  above  the  edge  of  the  rock, 
like  the  sun  just  emerging  above  the  edge  of  the  horizon, 
or  the  round-cheeked  moon  on  the  dial  of  a  clock. 

The  red-caps  had  nearly  finished  their  work ;  the 
grave  was  filled  up,  and  they  were  carefully  replacing  the 
tur£  This  done,  they  scattered  dry  leaves  over  the  place. 
"And  now,"  said  the  leader,  "I  defy  the  devil  himself  to 
find  it  out." 

"  The  murderers  !  "  exclaimed  Sam,  involuntarily. 

The  whole  gang  started,  and  looking  up,  beheld  the 
round  black  head  of  Sam  just  above  them.  His  white 
eyes  strained  half  out  of  their  orbits;  his  white  teeth 
chattering,  and  his  whole  visage  shining  with  cold  perspi- 
ration. 

"  We're  discovered  !  "  cried  one. 

"  Down  with  him ! "  cried  another. 

Sam  heard  the  cocking  of  a  pistol,  but  did  not  pause 
for  the   report.      He   scrambled   over  rock    and   stone, 


508  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLEIL 

througli  brusli  and  brier ;  rolled  down  banks  like  a 
hedge-hog ;  scrambled  up  others  like  a  catamount.  In 
every  direction  he  heard  some  one  or  other  of  the  gang 
hemming  him  in.  At  length  he  reached  the  rocky  ridge 
along  the  river ;  one  of  the  red-caps  was  hard  behind 
him.  A  steep  rock  like  a  wall  rose  directly  in  his  way ; 
it  seemed  to  cut  off  all  retreat,  when  fortunately  he 
espied  the  strong  cord-like  branch  of  a  grape-vine  reach- 
ing half  way  down  it.  He  sprang  at  it  with  the  force  of 
a  desperate  man,  seized  it  with  both  hands,  and  being 
young  and  agile,  succeeded  in  swinging  himself  to  the 
summit  of  the  cliff.  Here  he  stood  in  full  relief  against 
the  sky,  when  the  red-cap  cocked  his  pistol  and  fired. 
The  ball  whistled  by  Sam's  head.  "With  the  lucky 
thought  of  a  man  in  an  emergency,  he  uttered  a  yell,  fell 
to  the  ground,  and  detached  at  the  same  time  a  frag- 
ment of  the  rock,  which  tumbled  with  a  loud  splash  into 
the  river. 

"I've  done  his  business,"  said  the  red-cap  to  one  or 
two  of  his  comrades  as  they  arrived  panting.  "He'll  tell 
no  tales,  except  to  the  fishes  in  the  river." 

His  pursuers  now  turned  to  meet  their  companions. 
Sam,  sliding  silently  down  the  surface  of  the  rock,  let 
himself  quietly  into  his  skiff,  cast  loose  the  fastening,  and 
abandoned  himself  to  the  rapid  current,  which  in  that 
place  runs  like  a  mill-stream,  and  soon  swept  him  off 
from  the  neighborhood.  It  was  not,  however,  until  he 
had  drifted  a  great  distance  that  he  ventured  to  ply  his 


TEE  BLACK  FISHEEMAN,  509 

oars,  when  lie  made  Hs  skiff  dart  like  an  arrow  through 
the  strait  of  Hell-gate,  never  heeding  the  danger  of  Pot, 
Frying-Pan,  nor  Hog's  Back  itself  :  nor  did  he  feel  him- 
self thoroughly  secure  until  safely  nestled  in  bed  in  the 
cockloft  of  the  ancient  farm-house  of  the  Suydams. 

Here  the  worthy  Peechy  Prauw  paused  to  take  breath, 
and  to  take  a  sip  of  the  gossip  tankard  that  stood  at  his 
elbow.  His  auditors  remained  with  open  mouths  and 
outstretched  necks,  gaping  like  a  nest  of  swallows  for  an 
additional  mouthful. 

"And  is  that  all?  "  exclaimed  the  half-pay  officer. 

"  That's  all  that  belongs  to  the  story,"  said  Peechy 
Prauw. 

"And  did  Sam  never  find  out  what  was  buried  by 
the  red-caps  ? "  said  Wolfert,  eagerly,  whose  mind  was 
haunted  by  nothing  but  ingots  and  doubloons. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  said  Peechy ;  "  he  had  no  time 
to  spare  from  his  work,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not 
like  to  run  the  risk  of  another  race  among  the  rocks. 
Besides,  how  should  he  recollect  the  spot  where  the 
grave  had  been  digged?  everything  would  look  so  dif- 
ferent by  daylight.  And  then,  where  was  the  use  of 
looking  for  a  dead  body,  when  there  was  no  chance  of 
hanging  the  murderers  ?  " 

^*Aye,  but  are  you  sure  it  was  a  dead  body  they 
buried?"  said  Wolfert. 

"  To  be  sure,"  cried  Peechy  Prauw,  exultingly.  "  Does 
it  not  haunt  in  the  neighborhood  to  this  very  day  ?  " 


510  TALE8  OF  A  TRA  VELLER. 

"  Haunts !  "  exclaimed  several  of  tlie  party,  opening 
their  eyes  still  wider,  and  edging  their  chairs  still  closer. 

"Aye,  haunts,"  repeated  Peechy;  "have  none  of  you 
heard  of  father  Eed-cap,  who  haunts  the  old  burnt  farm- 
house in  the  woods,  on  the  border  of  the  Sound,  near 
Hell-gate  ?  " 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,  I've  heard  tell  of  something  of  the 
kind,  but  then  I  took  it  for  some  old  wives'  fable." 

"  Old  wives'  fable  or  not,"  said  Peechy  Prauw,  "  that 
farm-house  stands  hard  by  the  very  spot.  It's  been  un- 
occupied time  out  of  mind,  and  stands  in  a  lonely  part  of 
the  coast ;  but  those  who  fish  in  the  neighborhood  have 
often  heard  strange  noises  there ;  and  lights  have  been 
seen  about  the  wood  at  night ;  and  an  old  fellow  in  a  red 
cap  has  been  seen  at  the  windows  more  than  once,  which 
people  take  to  be  the  ghost  of  the  body  buried  there. 
Once  upon  a  time  three  soldiers  took  shelter  in  the 
building  for  the  night,  and  rummaged  it  from  top  to  bot- 
tom, when  they  found  old  father  Red-cap  astride  of  a 
cider-barrel  in  the  cellar,  with  a  jug  in  one  hand  and  a 
goblet  in  the  other.  He  offered  them  a  drink  out  of  his 
goblet,  but  just  as  one  of  the  soldiers  was  putting  it  to 
his  mouth — whew  ! — a  flash  of  fire  blazed  through  the 
cellar,  blinded  every  mother's  son  of  them  for  several 
minutes,  and  when  they  recovered  their  eye-sight,  jug, 
goblet,  and  Red-cap  had  vanished,  and  nothing  but  the 
empty  cider-barrel  remained." 

Here  the  half-pay  officer,  who  was  growing  very  muzzy 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  511 

and  sleepy,  and  nodding  over  his  liquor,  with  half-ex- 
tinguished eye,  suddenly  gleamed  up  like  an  expiring 
rushlight. 

"  That's  all  fudge ! "  said  he,  as  Peechy  finished  his 
last  story. 

"Well,  I  don't  vouch  for  the  truth  of  it  myself,"  said 
Peechy  Prauw,  "  though  all  the  world  knows  that  there's 
something  strange  about  that  house  and  grounds ;  but  as 
to  the  story  of  Mud  Sam,  I  believe  it  just  as  well  as  if  it 
had  happened  to  myseli 

The  deep  interest  taken  in  this  conversation  by  the 
company  had  made  them  unconscious  of  the  uproar 
abroad  among  the  elements,  when  suddenly  they  were 
electrified  by  a  tremendous  clap  of  thunder.  A  lumber- 
ing crash  followed  instantaneously,  shaking  the  building 
to  its  very  foundation.  All  started  from  their  seats,  imag- 
ining it  the  shock  of  an  earthquake,  or  that  old  father 
Eed-cap  was  coming  among  them  in  all  his  terrors.  They 
listened  for  a  moment,  but  only  heard  the  rain  pelting 
against  the  windows,  and  the  wind  howling  among  the 
trees.  The  explosion  was  soon  explained  by  the  appari- 
tion of  an  old  negro's  bald  head  thrust  in  at  the  door,  his 
white  goggle  eyes  contrasting  with  his  jetty  poll,  which 
was  wet  with  rain,  and  shone  like  a  bottle.  In  a  jargon 
but  half  intelligible,  he  announced  that  the  kitchen-chim- 
ney had  been  struck  with  lightning. 

A  sullen  pause  of  the  storm,  which  now  rose  and  sunk 


512  TALES  OF  A  TBAYELLEB. 

in  gusts,  produced  a  momentary  stillness.  In  this  inter- 
val the  report  of  a  musket  was  heard,  and  a  long  shout, 
almost  like  a  yell,  resounded  from  the  shores.  Every  one 
crowded  to  the  window ;  another  musket-shot  was  heard, 
and  another  long  shout,  mingled  wildly  with  a  rising 
blast  of  wind.  It  seemed  as  if  the  cry  came  up  from  the 
bosom  of  the  waters;  for  though  incessant  flashes  of 
lightning  spread  a  light  about  the  shore,  no  one  was  to 
be  seen. 

Suddenly  the  window  of  the  room  overhead  was 
opened,  and  a  loud  halloo  uttered  by  the  mysterious 
stranger.  Several  hailings  passed  from  one  party  to  the 
other,  but  in  a  language  which  none  of  the  company  in 
the  bar-room  could  understand;  and  presently  they 
heard  the  window  closed,  and  a  great  noise  overhead,  as 
if  all  the  furniture  were  pulled  and  hauled  about  the 
room.  The  negro  servant  was  summoned,  and  shortly 
afterwards  was  seen  assisting  the  veteran  to  lug  the  pon- 
derous sea-chest  down-stairs. 

The  landlord  was  in  amazement.  "  What,  you  are  not 
going  on  the  water  in  such  a  storm?" 

"  Storm ! "  said  the  other,  scornfully,  "  do  you  call  such 
a  sputter  of  weather  a  storm  ?  " 

"You'll  get  drenched  to  the  skin, — you'll  catch  your 
death !  "  said  Peechy  Prauw,  affectionately. 

*'  Thunder  and  lightning ! "  exclaimed  the  veteran, 
"don't  preach  about  weather  to  a  man  that  has  cruised 
in  whirlwinds  and  tornadoes." 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  513 

The  obsequious  Peechy  was  again  struck  dumb.  The 
voice  from  the  water  was  heard  once  more  in  a  tone  of 
impatience ;  the  by-standers  stared  with  redoubled  awe  at 
this  man  of  storms,  who  seemed  to  have  come  up  out  of 
the  deep,  and  to  be  summoned  back  to  it  again.  As,  with 
the  assistance  of  the  negro,  he  slowly  bore  his  ponderous 
sea-chest  towards  the  shore,  they  eyed  it  with  a  supersti- 
tious feeling, — half  doubting  whether  he  were  not  really 
about  to  embark  upon  it  and  launch  forth  upon  the  wild 
wayes.     They  followed  him  at  a  distance  with  a  lantern. 

"Dowse  the  light!"  roared  the  hoarse  voice  from  the 
water.     "  No  one  wants  light  here  !  " 

"  Thunder  and  lightning !  "  exclaimed  the  veteran,  turn- 
ing short  upon  them ;  "  back  to  the  house  with  you  ! " 

Wolfert  and  his  companions  shrunk  back  in  dismay. 
Still  their  curiosity  would  not  allow  them  entirely  to 
withdraw.  A  long  sheet  of  lightning  now  flickered  across 
the  waves,  and  discovered  a  boat,  filled  with  men,  just 
under  a  rocky  point,  rising  and  sinking  with  the  heaving 
surges,  and  swashing  the  waters  at  every  heave.  It  was 
with  difficulty  held  to  the  rocks  by  a  boathook,  for  the 
current  rushed  furiously  round  the  point.  The  veteran 
hoisted  one  end  of  the  lumbering  sea-chest  on  the  gun- 
wale of  the  boat,  and  seized  the  handle  at  the  other  end 
to  lift  it  in,  when  the  motion  propelled  the  boat  from  the 
shore  ;  the  chest  slipped  off  from  the  gunwale,  and,  sink- 
ing into  the  waves,  pulled  the  veteran  headlong  after  it. 
A  loud  shriek  was  uttered  by  all  on  shore,  and  a  volley 


514  TALES  OF  A  TRA  VELLER. 

of  execrations  by  tliose  on  board ;  but  boat  and  man  were 
hurried  away  by  the  rushing  swiftness  of  the  tide.  A 
pitchy  darkness  succeeded ;  Wolfert  Webber  indeed  fan- 
cied that  he  distinguished  a  cry  for  help,  and  that  he  be- 
held the  drowning  man  beckoning  for  assistance ;  but 
when  the  lightning  again  gleamed  along  the  water,  all 
was  void ;  neither  man  nor  boat  was  to  be  seen  ;  nothing 
but  the  dashing  and  weltering  of  the  waves  as  they  hur- 
ried past. 

The  company  returned  to  the  tavern  to  await  the  sub- 
siding of  the  storm.  They  resumed  their  seats,  and 
gazed  on  each  other  with  dismay.  The  whole  transac- 
tion had  not  occupied  ^^q  minutes,  and  not  a  dozen 
words  had  been  spoken.  When  they  looked  at  the  oaken 
chair,  they  could  scarcely  realize  the  fact  that  the 
strange  being  who  had  so  lately  tenanted  it,  full  of  life 
and  Herculean  vigor,  should  already  be  a  corpse.  There 
was  the  very  glass  he  had  just  drunk  from ;  there  lay  the 
ashes  from  the  pipe  which  he  had  smoked,  as  it  were, 
with  his  last  breath.  As  the  worthy  burghers  pondered 
on  these  things,  they  felt  a  terrible  conviction  of  the  un- 
certainty of  existence,  and  each  felt  as  if  the  ground  on 
which  he  stood  was  rendered  less  stable  by  his  awful 
example. 

As,  however,  the  most  of  the  company  were  possessed 
of  that  valuable  philosophy  which  enables  a  man  to  bear 
up  with  fortitude  against  the  misfortunes  of  his  neigh- 
bors, they  soon  managed  to  console  themselves  for  the 


DEATH  OF  THE   MYSTERIOUS  STRANGER.      (P.  514)- 


WOLFEBT  WEBBER.  515 

tragic  end  of  the  veteran.  The  landlord  was  particularly 
happy  that  the  poor  dear  man  had  paid  his  reckoning 
before  he  went ;  and  made  a  kind  of  farewell  speech  on 
the  occasion. 

"He  came,"  said  he,  "in  a  storm,  and  he  went  in  a 
storm  ;  he  came  in  the  night,  and  he  went  in  the  night ; 
he  came  nobody  knows  whence,  and  he  has  gone  nobody 
knows  where.  For  aught  I  know  he  has  gone  to  sea  once 
more  on  his  chest,  and  may  land  to  bother  some  people 
on  the  other  side  of  the  world !  Though  it's  a  thousand 
pities,"  added  he,  "  if  he  has  gone  to  Davy  Jones's  locker, 
that  he  had  not  left  his  own  locker  behind  him." 

"  His  locker  !  St.  Nicholas  preserve  us !  "  cried  Peechy 
Prauw.  "  I'd  not  have  had  that  sea-chest  in  the  house 
for  any  money  ;  I'll  warrant  he'd  come  racketing  after  it 
at  nights,  and  making  a  haunted  house  of  the  inn.  And, 
as  to  his  going  to  sea  in  his  chest,  I  recollect  what  hap- 
pened to  Skipper  Onderdonk's  ship  on  his  voyage  from 
Amsterdam.  ■ 

"  The  boatswain  died  during  a  storm  :  so  they  wrapped 
him  up  in  a  sheet,  and  put  him  in  his  own  sea-chest,  and 
threw  him  overboard  ;  but  they  neglected  in  their  hurry- 
skurry  to  say  prayers  over  him — and  the  storm  raged 
and  roared  louder  than  ever,  and  they  saw  the  dead  man 
seated  in  his  chest,  with  his  shroud  for  a  sail,  coming 
hard  after  the  ship  ;  and  the  sea  breaking  before  him  in 
great  sprays  like  fire  ;  and  there  they  kept  scudding  day 
after  day,  and   night   after  night,  expecting  every  mo- 


516  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

ment  to  go  to  wreck  ;  and  every  niglit  they  saw  the  dead 
boatswain  in  his  sea-chest  trying  to  get  up  with  them, 
and  they  heard  his  whistle  above  the  blasts  of  wind,  and 
he  seemed  to  send  great  seas  mountain-high  after  them, 
that  would  have  swamped  the  ship  if  they  had  not  put 
up  the  dead-lights.  And  so  it  went  on  till  they  lost  sight 
of  him  in  the  fogs  off  Newfoundland,  and  supposed  he 
had  veered  ship  and  stood  for  Dead  Man's  Isle.  So 
much  for  burying  a  man  at  sea  without  saying  prayers 
over  him." 

The  thunder-gust  which  had  hitherto  detained  the 
company  was  now  at  an  end.  The  cuckoo  clock  in  the 
hall  told  midnight ;  every  one  pressed  to  depart,  for 
seldom  was  such  a  late  hour  of  the  night  trespassed  on 
by  these  quiet  burghers.  As  they  sallied  forth,  they 
found  the  heavens  once  more  serene.  The  storm  which 
had  lately  obscured  them  had  rolled  away,  and  lay  piled 
up  in  fleecy  masses  on  the  horizon,  lighted  up  by  the 
bright  crescent  of  the  moon,  which  looked  like  a  little 
silver  lamp  hung  up  in  a  palace  of  clouds. 

The  dismal  occurrence  of  the  night,  and  the  dismal 
narrations  they  had  made,  had  left  a  superstitious  feeling 
in  every  mind.  They  cast  a  fearful  glance  at  the  spot 
where  the  buccaneer  had  disappeared,  almost  expecting 
to  see  him  sailing  on  his  chest  in  the  cool  moonshine. 
The  trembling  rays  glittered  along  the  waters,  but  all 
was  placid ;  and  the  current  dimpled  over  the  spot  where 
he   had  gone   down.     The  party  huddled  together  in  a 


WOLFJiJMT  WEBBER.  517 

little  crowd  as  they  repaired  homewards ;  particularly 
when  they  passed  a  lonely  field  where  a  man  had  been 
murdered  ;  and  even  the  sexton,  who  had  to  complete  his 
journey  alone,  though  accustomed,  one  would  think,  to 
ghosts  and  goblins,  went  a  long  way  round,  rather  than 
pass  by  his  own  church-yard. 

Wolfert  Webber  had  now  carried  home  a  fresh  stock  of 
stories  and  notions  to  ruminate  upon.  These  accounts  of 
pots  of  money  and  Spanish  treasures,  buried  here  and 
there  and  everywhere,  about  the  rocks  and  bays  of  these 
wild  shores,  made  him  almost  dizzy.  "Blessed  St. 
Nicholas  !  "  ejaculated  he,  half  aloud,  "is  it  not  possible 
to  come  upon  one  of  these  golden  hoards,  and  to  make 
one's  self  rich  in  a  twinkling  ?  How  hard  that  I  must  go 
on,  delving  and  delving,  day  in  and  day  out,  merely  to 
make  a  morsel  of  bread,  when  one  lucky  stroke  of  a 
spade  might  enable  me  to  ride  in  my  carriage  for  the  rest 
of  my  life !  " 

As  he  turned  over  in  his  thoughts  all  that  been  told  of 
the  singular  adventure  of  the  negro  fisherman,  his  im- 
agination gave  a  totally  different  complexion  to  the  tale. 
He  saw  in  the  gang  of  red-caps  nothing  but  a  crew  of 
pirates  burying  their  spoils,  and  his  cupidity  was  once 
more  awakened  by  the  possibility  of  at  length  getting  on 
the  traces  of  some  of  this  lurking  wealth.  Indeed,  his 
infected  fancy  tinged  everything  with  gold.  He  felt  like 
the  greedy  inhabitant  of  Bagdad,  v/hen  his  eyes  had  been 
greased  with  the  magic  ointment  of  the  dervise,  that  gave 


518  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

him  to  see  all  the  treasures  of  the  earth.  Caskets  of 
buried  jewels,  chests  of  ingots,  and  barrels  of  outlandish 
coins,  seemed  to  court  him  from  their  concealments,  and 
supplicate  him  to  relieve  them  from  their  untimely  graves. 

On  making  private  inquiries  about  the  grounds  said  to 
be  haunted  by  Father  Red-cap,  he  was  more  and  more 
confirmed  in  his  surmise.  He  learned  that  the  place  had 
several  times  been  visited  by  experienced  money-diggers, 
who  had  heard  black  Sam's  story,  though  none  of  them 
had  met  with  success.  On  the  contrary,  they  had  always 
been  dogged  with  ill-luck  of  some  kind  or  other,  in  conse- 
quence, as  Wolfert  concluded,  of  not  going  to  work  at  the 
proper  time,  and  with  the  proper  ceremonials.  The  last 
attempt  had  been  made  by  Cobus  Quackenbos,  who  dug 
for  a  whole  night,  and  met  with  incredible  difficulty,  for 
as  fast  as  he  threw  one  shovelful  of  earth  out  of  the  hole, 
two  were  thrown  in  by  invisible  hands.  He  succeeded 
so  far,  however,  as  to  uncover  an  iron  chest,  when  there 
was  a  terrible  roaring,  ramping,  and  raging  of  uncouth 
figures  about  the  hole,  and  at  length  a  shower  of  blows, 
dealt  by  invisible  cudgels,  fairly  belabored  him  off  of  the 
forbidden  ground.  This  Cobus  Quackenbos  had  declared 
on  his  death-bed,  so  that  there  could  not  be  any  doubt  of 
it.  He  was  a  man  that  had  devoted  many  years  of  his 
life  to  money-digging,  and  it  was  thought  would  have 
ultimately  succeeded,  had  he  not  died  recently  of  a  brain- 
fever  in  the  almshouse. 

"Wolfert  "Webber  was  now  in  a  worry  of  trepidation  and 


WOLFERT  WEBBEB.  519 

impatience  ;  fearful  lest  some  rival  adventurer  should  get 
a  scent  of  the  buried  gold.  He  determined  privately  to 
seek  out  the  black  fisherman,  and  get  him  to  serve  as 
guide  to  the  place  where  he  had  witnessed  the  mysterious 
scene  of  interment.  Sam  was  easily  found ;  for  he  was 
one  of  those  old  habitual  beings  that  live  about  a  neigh- 
borhood until  they  wear  themselves  a  place  in  the  public 
mind,  and  become,  in  a  manner,  public  characters.  There 
was  not  an  unlucky  urchin  about  town  that  did  not  know 
Sam  the  fisherman,  and  think  that  he  had  a  right  to  play 
his  tricks  upon  the  old  negro.  Sam  had  led  an  amphibi- 
ous life  for  more  than  half  a  century,  about  the  shores 
of  the  bay,  and  the  fishing-grounds  of  the  Sound.  He 
passed  the  greater  part  of  his  time  on  and  in  the  water, 
particularly  about  Hell-gate  ;  and  might  have  been  taken, 
in  bad  weather,  for  one  of  the  hobgoblins  that  used  to 
haunt  that  strait.  There  would  he  be  seen,  at  all  times, 
and  in  all  weathers ;  sometimes  in  his  skiff,  anchored 
among  the  eddies,  or  prowling  like  a  shark  about  some 
wreck,  where  the  fish  are  supposed  to  be  most  abundant. 
Sometimes  seated  on  a  rock  from  hour  to  hour,  looking  in 
the  mist  and  drizzle,  like  a  solitary  heron  watching  for 
its  prey.  He  was  well  acquainted  with  every  hole  and 
corner  of  the  Sound  ;  from  the  Wallabout  to  Hell-gate, 
and  from  Hell-gate  unto  the  Devil's  Stepping-Stones ; 
and  it  was  even  affirmed  that  he  knew  all  the  fish  in  the 
river  by  their  Christian  names. 

Wolfert  found  him  at  his  cabin,  which  was  not  much 


520  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

larger  than  a  tolerable  dog-liouse.  It  was  rudely  con- 
structed of  fragments  of  wrecks  and  drift-wood,  and  built 
on  the  rocky  shore,  at  the  foot  of  the  old  fort,  just  about 
what  at  present  forms  the  point  of  the  Battery.  A  "  most 
ancient  and  fishiike  smell "  pervaded  the  place.  Oars, 
paddles,  and  fishing-rods  were  leaning  against  the  wall  of 
the  fort ;  a  net  was  spread  on  the  sand  to  dry  ;  a  skiff  was 
drawn  up  on  the  beach ;  and  at  the  door  of  his  cabin  was 
Mud  Sam  himself,  indulging  in  the  true  negro  luxury  of 
sleeping  in  the  sunshine. 

Many  years  had  passed  away  since  the  time  of  Sam's 
youthful  adventure,  and  the  snows  of  many  a  winter  had 
grizzled  the  knotty  wool  upon  his  head.  He  perfectly 
recollected  the  circumstances,  however,  for  he  had  often 
been  called  upon  to  relate  them,  though  in  his  version  of 
the  story  he  differed  in  many  points  from  Peechy  Prauw ; 
as  is  not  unfrequently  the  case  with  authentic  historians. 
As  to  the  subsequent  researches  of  money-diggers,  Sam 
knew  nothing  about  them ;  they  were  matters  quite  out 
of  his  line  ;  neither  did  the  cautious  Wolfert  care  to  dis- 
turb his  thoughts  on  that  point.  His  only  wish  was  to 
secure  the  old  fisherman  as  a  pilot  to  the  spot ;  and  this 
was  readily  effected.  The  long  time  that  had  intervened 
since  his  nocturnal  adventure  had  effaced  all  Sam's  awe 
of  the  place,  and  the  promise  of  a  trifling  reward  roused 
him  at  once  from  his  sleep  and  his  sunshine. 

The  tide  was  adverse  to  making  the  expedition  by 
water,  and  Wolfert  was  too  impatient  to  get  to  the  land 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  521 

of  promise,  to  wait  for  its  turning ;  they  set  off,  therefore, 
by  land,  A  walk  of  four  or  ^nq  miles  brought  them  to 
the  edge  of  a  wood,  which  at  that  time  covered  the 
greater  part  of  the  eastern  side  of  the  island.  It  was  just 
beyond  the  pleasant  region  of  Bloomen-daeL  Here  they 
struck  into  a  long  lane,  straggling  among  trees  and 
bushes,  very  much  overgrown  with  weeds  and  mullein- 
stalks,  as  if  but  seldom  used,  and  so  completely  over- 
shadowed as  to  enjoy  but  a  kind  of  twilight.  "Wild  vines 
entangled  the  trees  and  flaunted  in  their  faces  ;  brambles 
and  briers  caught  their  clothes  as  they  passed ;  the  gar- 
ter-snake glided  across  their  path ;  the  spotted  toad 
hopped  and  waddled  before  them,  and  the  restless  cat- 
bird mewed  at  them  from  every  thicket.  Had  Wolfert 
Webber  been  deeply  read  in  romantic  legend,  he  might 
have  fancied  himself  entering  upon  forbidden,  enchanted 
ground ;  or  that  these  were  some  of  the  guardians  set  to 
keep  watch  upon  buried  treasure.  As  it  was,  the  loneli- 
ness of  the  place,  and  the  wild  stories  connected  with  it, 
had  their  effect  upon  his  mind. 

On  reaching  the  lower  end  of  the  lane,  they  found 
themselves  near  the  shore  of  the  Sound  in  a  kind  of 
amphitheatre,  surrounded  by  forest-trees.  The  area  had 
once  been  a  grass-plot,  but  was  now  shagged  with  briers 
and  rank  weeds.  At  one  end,  and  just  on  the  river  bank, 
was  a  ruined  building,  little  better  than  a  heap  of  rub- 
bish, with  a  stack  of  chimneys  rising  like  a  solitary  tower 
out  of  the  centre.   The  current  of  the  Sound  rushed  along 


522  TALES  OF  A  TBAVELLER, 

just  below  it;  with  wildly  grown  trees  drooping  tbeii 
branches  into  its  waves. 

"Wolfert  had  not  a  doubt  that  this  was  the  haunted 
house  of  Father  Red-cap,  and  called  to  mind  the  story  of 
Peechy  Prauw.  The  evening  was  approaching,  and  the 
light  falling  dubiously  among  the  woody  places,  gave  a 
melancholy  tone  to  the  scene,  well  calculated  to  foster 
any  lurking  feeling  of  awe  or  superstition.  The  night- 
hawk,  wheeling  about  in  the  highest  regions  of  the  air, 
emitted  his  peevish,  boding  cry.  The  woodpecker  gave 
a  lonely  tap  now  and  then  on  some  hollow  tree,  and  the 
fire-bird  *  streamed  by  them  with  his  deep-red  plumage. 

They  now  came  to  an  enclosure  that  had  once  been  a 
garden.  It  extended  along  the  foot  of  a  rocky  ridge,  but 
was  little  better  than  a  wilderness  of  weeds,  with  here 
and  there  a  matted  rose-bush,  or  a  peach  or  plum  tree 
grown  wild  and  ragged,  and  covered  with  moss.  At  the 
lower  end  of  the  garden  they  passed  a  kind  of  vault  in 
the  side  of  a  bank,  facing  the  water.  It  had  the  look  of  a 
root-house.  The  door,  though  decayed,  was  still  strong, 
and  appeared  to  have  been  recently  patched  up.  Wolfert 
pushed  it  open.  It  gave  a  harsh  grating  upon  its  hinges, 
and  striking  against  something  like  a  box,  a  rattling 
sound  ensued,  and  a  skull  rolled  on  the  floor.  Wolfert 
drew  back  shuddering,  but  was  reassured  on  being  in- 
formed by  the  negro  that  this  was  a  family  vault,  belong- 

*  Orchard  Oriole« 


WOLFBUT  WEBBER.  523 

ing  to  one  of  tlie  old  Dutch  families  that  owned  this 
estate ;  an  assertion  corroborated  by  the  sight  of  coffins  of 
various  sizes  piled  within.  Sam  had  been  familiar  with 
all  these  scenes  when  a  boy,  and  now  knew  that  he  could 
not  be  far  from  the  place  of  which  they  were  in  quest. 

They  now  made  their  way  to  the  water's  edge,  scram- 
bling along  ledges  of  rocks  that  overhung  the  waves,  and 
obliged  often  to  hold  by  shrubs  and  grape-vines  to  avoid 
slipping  into  the  deep  and  hurried  stream.  At  length 
they  came  to  a  small  cove,  or  rather  indent  of  the  shore. 
It  was  protected  by  steep  rocks,  and  overshadowed  by  a 
thick  copse  of  oaks  and  chestnuts,  so  as  to  be  sheltered 
and  almost  concealed.  The  beach  shelved  gradually 
within  the  cove,  but  the  current  swept  deep,  and  black, 
and  rapid,  along  its  jutting  points.  The  negro  paused; 
raised  his  remnant  of  a  hat,  and  scratched  his  grizzled 
poll  for  a  moment,  as  he  regarded  this  nook ;  then  sud- 
denly clapping  his  hands,  he  stepped  exultingly  forward, 
and  pointed  to  a  large  iron  ring,  stapled  firmly  in  the 
rock,  just  where  a  broad  shelf  of  stone  furnished  a  com- 
modious landing-place.  It  was  the  very  spot  where  the 
red-caps  had  landed.  Tears  had  changed  the  more  per- 
ishable features  of  the  scene ;  but  rock  and  iron  yield 
slowly  to  the  influence  of  time.  On  looking  more  closely, 
Wolfert  remarked  three  crosses  cut  in  the  rock  just 
above  the  ring,  which  had  no  doubt  some  mysterious 
signification.  Old  Sam  now  readily  recognized  the  over- 
hanging  rock  under  which  his  skiff  had  been  sheltered 


524  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

during  the  tliunder-gust.  To  follow  up  tlie  course  which 
the  midnight  gang  had  taken,  however,  was  a  harder 
task.  His  mind  had  been  so  much  taken  up  on  that 
eventful  occasion  by  the  persons  of  the  drama,  as  to  pay 
but  little  attention  to  the  scenes ;  and  these  places  look 
so  different  by  night  and  day.  After  wandering  about 
for  some  time,  however,  they  came  to  an  opening  among 
the  trees  which  Sam  thought  resembled  the  place. 
There  was  a  ledge  of  rock  of  moderate  height  like  a  wall 
on  one  side,  which  he  thought  might  be  the  very  ridge 
whence  he  had  overlooked  the  diggers.  Wolfert  exam- 
ined it  narrowly,  and  at  length  discovered  three  crosses 
similar  to  those  on  the  above  ring,  cut  deeply  into  the 
face  of  the  rock,  but  nearly  obliterated  by  moss  that  had 
grown  over  them.  His  heart  leaped  with  joy,  for  he 
doubted  not  they  were  the  private  marks  of  the  buc- 
caneers. All  now  that  remained  was  to  ascertain  the 
precise  spot  where  the  treasure  lay  buried ;  for  other- 
wise he  might  dig  at  random  in  the  neighborhood  of 
the  crosses,  without  coming  upon  the  spoils,  and  he  had 
already  had  enough  of  such  profitless  labor.  Here,  how- 
ever, the  old  negro  was  perfectly  at  a  loss,  and  indeed 
perplexed  him  by  a  variety  of  opinions  ;  for  his  recollec- 
tions were  all  confused.  Sometimes  he  declared  it  must 
have  been  at  the  foot  of  a  mulberry- tree  hard  by ;  then 
beside  a  great  white  stone ;  then  under  a  small  green 
knoll,  a  short  distance  from  the  ledge  of  rocks ;  until 
at  length  Wolfert  became  as  bewildered  as  himself. 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  525 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  now  spreading  them- 
selves over  the  woods,  and  rock  and  tree  began  to  mingle 
together.  It  was  evidently  too  late  to  attempt  anything 
farther  at  present ;  and,  indeed,  Wolfert  had  come  unpro- 
vided with  implements  to  prosecute  his  researches.  Sat- 
isfied, therefore,  with  having  ascertained  the  place,  he 
took  note  of  all  its  landmarks,  that  he  might  recognize 
it  again,  and  set  out  on  his  return  homewards,  resolved 
to  prosecute  this  golden  enterprise  without  delay. 

The  leading  anxiety  which  had  hitherto  absorbed  ev- 
ery feeling,  being  now  in  some  measure  appeased,  fancy 
began  to  wander,  and  to  conjure  up  a  thousand  shapes 
and  chimeras  as  he  returned  through  this  haunted  re- 
gion. Pirates  hanging  in  chains  seemed  to  swing  from 
every  tree,  and  he  almost  expected  to  see  some  Spanish 
Don,  with  his  throat  cut  from  ear  to  ear,  rising  slowly 
out  of  the  ground,  and  shaking  the  ghost  of  a  money- 
bag. 

Their  way  back  lay  through  the  desolate  garden,  and 
Wolfert's  nerves  had  arrived  at  so  sensitive  a  state  that 
the  flitting  of  a  bird,  the  rustling  of  a  leaf,  or  the  falling 
of  a  nut,  was  enough  to  startle  him.  As  they  entered  the 
confines  of  the  garden,  they  caught  sight  of  a  figure  at  a 
distance  advancing  slowly  up  one  of  the  walks,  and  bend- 
ing under  the  weight  of  a  burden.  They  paused  and  re- 
garded him  attentively.  He  wore  what  appeared  to  be 
a  woollen  cap,  and,  still  more  alarming,  of  a  most  sangui- 
nary red. 


526  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLEB. 

The  figure  moved  slowly  on,  ascended  tlie  bank,  and 
stopped  at  the  very  door  of  the  sepulchral  vault.  Just 
before  entering  it  he  looked  around.  What  was  the 
affright  of  Wolfert  when  he  recognized  the  grisly  visage 
of  the  drowned  buccaneer !  He  uttered  an  ejaculation  of 
horror.  The  figure  slowly  raised  his  iron  fist,  and  shook 
it  with  a  terrible  menace.  Wolfert  did  not  pause  to  see 
any  more,  but  hurried  off  as  fast  as  his  legs  could  carry 
him,  nor  was  Sam  slow  in  following  at  his  heels,  having 
all  his  ancient  terrors  revived.  Away,  then,  did  they 
scramble  through  bush  and  brake,  horribly  frightened  at 
every  bramble  that  tugged  at  their  skirts,  nor  did  they 
pause  to  breathe,  until  they  had  blundered  their  way 
through  this  perilous  wood,  and  fairly  reached  the  high 
road  to  the  city. 

Several  days  elapsed  before  Wolfert  could  summon 
courage  enough  to  prosecute  the  enterprise,  so  much 
had  he  been  dismayed  by  the  apparition,  whether  liv- 
ing or  dead,  of  the  grisly  buccaneer.  In  the  mean- 
time, what  a  conflict  of  mind  did  he  suffer !  He  neglected 
all  his  concerns,  was  moody  and  restless  all  day,  lost  his 
appetite,  wandered  in  his  thoughts  and  words,  and  com- 
mitted a  thousand  blunders.  His  rest  was  broken ;  and 
when  he  fell  asleep,  the  nightmare,  in  shape  of  a  huge 
money-bag,  sat  squatted  upon  his  breast.  He  babbled 
about  incalculable  sums ;  fancied  himself  engaged  in 
money-digging ;  threw  the  bedclothes  right  and  left,  in 
the  idea  that  he  was  shovelling  away  the  dirt;  groped 


WOLFEBT  WEBBER.  527 

under  the  bed  in  quest  of  the  treasure,  and  lugged  forth, 
as  he  supposed  an  inestimable  pot  of  gold. 

Dame  Webber  and  her  daughter  were  in  despair  at 
what  they  conceived  a  returning  touch  of  insanity. 
There  are  two  family  oracles,  one  or  other  of  which 
Dutch  housewives  consult  in  all  cases  of  great  doubt 
and  perplexity — the  dominie  and  the  doctor.  In  the 
present  instance  they  repaired  to  the  doctor.  There  was 
at  that  time  a  little  dark  mouldy  man  of  medicine,  famous 
among  the  old  wives  of  the  Manhattoes  for  his  skill,  not 
only  in  the  healing  art,  but  in  all  matters  of  strange  and 
mysterious  nature.  His  name  was  Dr.  Knipperhausen, 
but  he  was  more  commonly  known  by  the  appellation  of 
the  High-German  Doctor."^  To  him  did  the  poor  women 
repair  for  counsel  and  assistance  touching  the  mental 
vagaries  of  Wolfert  "Webber. 

They  found  the  doctor  seated  in  his  little  study,  clad 
in  his  dark  camlet  robe  of  knowledge,  with  his  black 
velvet  cap ;  after  the  manner  of  Boorhaave,  Van  Helmont, 
and  other  medical  sages;  a  pair  of  green  spectacles  set 
in  black  horn  upon  his  clubbed  nose,  and  poring  over  a 
German  folio  that  reflected  back  the  darkness  of  his 
physiognomy.  The  doctor  listened  to  their  statement 
of  the  symptoms  of  Wolfert' s  malady  with  j)rofound 
attention;  but  when  they  came  to  mention  his  rav- 
ing about  buried  money,  the  little  man  pricked  up  his 

♦The  same,  no  doubt,  of  whom  mention  is  made  in  the  history  of 
Dolph  Heyliger. 


528  TALES  OF  A  TMAVELLEB. 

ears.     Also,  poor  women!  they  little  knew  the  aid  they 
had  called  in. 

Dr.  Knipperhausen  had  been  half  his  life  engaged  in 
seeking  the  short  cuts  to  fortune,  in  quest  of  which  so 
many  a  long  lifetime  is  wasted.  He  had  passed  some 
years  of  his  youth  among  the  Harz  mountains  of  Ger- 
many, and  had  derived  much  valuable  instruction  from 
the  miners,  touching  the  mode  of  seeking  treasure  buried 
in  the  earth.  He  had  prosecuted  his  studies  also  under 
a  travelling  sage  who  united  the  mysteries  of  medicine 
with  magic  and  legerdemain.  His  mind  therefore  had 
become  stored  with  all  kinds  of  mystic  lore;  he  had 
dabbled  a  little  in  astrology,  alchemy,  divination;  knew 
how  to  detect  stolen  money,  and  to  tell  where  springs  of 
water  lay  hidden ;  in  a  word,  by  the  dark  nature  of  his 
knowledge  he  had  acquired  the  name  of  the  High-Ger- 
man Doctor,  which  is  pretty  nearly  equivalent  to  that  of 
necromancer.  The  doctor  had  often  heard  rumors  of 
treasure  being  buried  in  various  parts  of  the  island,  and 
had  long  been  anxious  to  get  on  the  traces  of  it.  No 
sooner  were  Wolfert's  waking  and  sleeping  vagaries  con- 
fided to  him,  than  he  beheld  in  them  the  confirmed  symp- 
toms of  a  case  of  money-digging,  and  lost  no  time  in 
probing  it  to  the  bottom.  Wolfert  had  long  been  sorely 
oppressed  in  mind  by  the  golden  secret,  and  as  a  family 
physician  is  a  kind  of  father  confessor,  he  was  glad 
of  any  opportunity  of  unburdening  himself.  So  far 
from   curing,   the   doctor   caught    the   malady  from  his 


WOLFEBT  WEBBEn.  529 

patient.  The  circumstances  unfolded  to  him  awakened 
all  his  cupidity;  he  had  not  a  doubt  of  money  being 
buried  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  mysterious 
crosses,  and  offered  to  join  Wolfert  in  the  search.  He 
informed  him  that  much  secrecy  and  caution  must  be 
observed  in  enterprises  of  the  kind ;  that  money  is  only 
to  be  digged  for  at  night;  with  certain  forms  and  cere- 
monies, and  burning  of  drugs;  the  repeating  of  mystic 
words,  and  above  all,  that  the  seekers  must  first  be  pro- 
vided with  a  divining  rod,  which  had  the  wonderful 
property  of  pointing  to  the  very  spot  on  the  surface  of 
the  earth  under  which  treasure  lay  hidden.  As  the 
doctor  had  given  much  of  his  mind  to  these  matters,  he 
charged  himself  with  all  the  necessary  preparations,  and, 
as  the  quarter  of  the  moon  was  propitious,  he  undertook 
to  have  the  divining  rod  ready  by  a  certain  night.* 

*  The  following  note  was  found  appended  to  this  passage  in  the  hand- 
writing of  Mr.  Knickerbocker.  "There  has  been  much  written  against 
the  divining  rod  by  those  light  minds  who  are  ever  ready  to  scoff  at  the 
mysteries  of  nature  ;  but  I  fully  join  with  Dr.  Knipperhausen  in  giving  it 
my  faith.  I  shall  not  insist  upon  its  eflB.cacy  in  discovering  the  conceal- 
ment of  stolen  goods,  the  boundary  stones  of  fields,  the  traces  of  robbers 
and  murderers,  or  even  the  existence  of  subterraneous  springs  and  streams 
of  water :  albeit,  I  think  these  properties  not  to  be  readily  discredited ;  but 
of  its  potency  in  discovering  veins  of  precious  metal,  and  hidden  sums  of 
money  and  jewels,  I  have  not  the  least  doubt.  Some  said  that  the  rod 
turned  only  in  the  hands  of  persons  who  had  been  bom  in  particular 
months  of  the  year  ;  hence  astrologers  had  recourse  to  planetary  influence 
when  they  would  procure  a  talisman.  Others  declared  that  the  properties 
of  the  rod  were  either  an  effect  of  chance,  or  the  fraud  of  the  holder,  or 
the  work  of  the  devil.  Thus  saith  the  reverend  father  Gaspard  Sebett  in 
his  Treatise  on  Magic :  '  Propter  haec  et  similia  argumenta  audacter  ego 

34 


530  TALES  OF  A  TRAYELLEB. 

Wolfert's  heart  leaped  with  joy  at  having  met  with 
so  learned  and  able  a  coadjutor.  Everything  went  on 
secretly,  but  swimmingly.  The  doctor  had  many  consul- 
tations with  his  patient,  and  the  good  woman  of  the 
household  lauded  the  comforting  effect  of  his  visits.  In 
the  meantime  the  wonderful  divining  rod,  that  great  key 
to  nature's  secrets,  was  duly  prepared.  The  doctor  had 
thumbed  over  all  his  books  of  knowledge  for  the  occa- 
sion ;  and  the  black  fisherman  was  engaged  to  take  them 
in  his  skiff  to  the  scene  of  enterprise ;  to  work  with  spade 
and  pickaxe  in  unearthing  the  treasure ;  and  to  freight  his 
bark  with  the  weighty  spoils  they  were  certain  of  finding. 

At  length  the  appointed  night  arrived  for  this  perilous 
undertaking.  Before  Wolfert  left  his  home  he  counselled 
his  wife  and  daughter  to  go  to  bed,  and  feel  no  alarm  if 
he  should  not  return  during  the  night.  Like  reasonable 
women,  on  being  told  not  to  feel  alarm  they  fell  immedi- 

promisero  vim  conversivam  virgulae  bifureataB  nequaquam  naturalem  esse, 
sed  vel  casu  vel  fraude  virgulam  tractantis  vel  ope  diaboli, '  &c. 

"  Georgius  Agricola  also  was  of  opinion  that  it  was  a  mere  delusion  of 
the  devil  to  inveigle  the  avaricious  and  unwary  into  his  clutches,  and  in 
his  treatise  'de  re  Metallica,'  lays  particular  stress  on  the  mysterious 
words  pronounced  by  those  persons  who  employed  the  divining  rod  during 
his  time.  But  I  make  not  a  doubt  that  the  divining  rod  is  one  of  those 
secrets  of  natural  magic,  the  mystery  of  which  is  to  be  explained  by  the 
sympathies  existing  between  physical  things  operated  upon  by  the  planets, 
and  rendered  efficacious  by  the  strong  faith  of  the  individual.  Let  the 
divining  rod  be  properly  gathered  at  the  proper  time  of  the  moon,  cut  into 
the  proper  form,  used  with  the  necessary  ceremonies,  and  with  a  perfect 
faith  in  its  efficacy,  and  I  can  confidently  recommend  it  to  my  fellow-citi- 
zens as  an  infallible  means  of  discovering  the  places  on  the  Island  of  th» 
Manhattoes  where  treasure  hath  been  buried  in  the  olden  time.    D.  K." 


WOLFEMT  WEBBER.  531 

ately  into  a  panic.  They  saw  at  once  by  his  manner  that 
something  unusual  was  in  agitation ;  all  their  fears  about 
the  unsettled  state  of  his  mind  were  revived  with  tenfold 
force ;  they  hung  about  him,  entreating  him  not  to  expose 
himself  to  the  night  air,  but  all  in  vain.  When  once  Wol- 
fert  was  mounted  on  his  hobby,  it  was  no  easy  matter  to 
get  him  out  of  the  saddle.  It  was  a  clear  starlight  night, 
when  he  issued  out  of  the  portal  of  the  Webber  palace. 
He  wore  a  large  flapped  hat  tied  under  the  chin  with  a 
handkerchief  of  his  daughter's,  to  secure  him  from  the 
night  damp,  while  Dame  Webber  threw  her  long  red 
cloak  about  his  shoulders,  and  fastened  it  round  his  neck. 

The  doctor  had  been  no  less  carefully  armed  and  ac- 
coutred by  his  housekeeper,  the  vigilant  Frau  Ilsy ;  and 
sallied  forth  in  his  camlet  robe  by  way  of  surcoat ;  his 
black  velvet  cap  under  his  cocked  hat,  a  thick  clasped 
book  under  his  arm,  a  basket  of  drugs  and  dried  herbs 
in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  the  miraculous  rod  of  div- 
ination. 

The  great  church-clock  struck  ten  as  Wolfert  and  the 
doctor  passed  by  the  church-yard,  and  the  watchman 
bawled  in  hoarse  voice  a  long  and  doleful  "All's  well! " 
A  deep  sleep  had  already  fallen  upon  this  primitive  little 
burgh  :  nothing  disturbed  this  awful  silence,  excepting 
now  and  then  the  bark  of  some  profligate  night-walking 
dog,  or  the  serenade  of  some  romantic  cat.  It  is  true, 
Wolfert  fancied  more  than  once  that  he  heard  the  sound 
of  a  stealthy  footfall  at  a  distance  behind  them  ;  but  it 


532  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER, 

might  have  been  merely  the  echo  of  their  own  steps 
along  the  quiet  streets.  He  thought  also  at  one  time 
that  he  saw  a  tall  figure  skulking  after  them — stopping 
when  they  stopped,  and  moving  on  as  they  proceeded  ; 
but  the  dim  and  uncertain  lamp-light  threw  such  vague 
gleams  and  shadows,  that  this  might  all  have  been  mere 
fancy. 

They  found  the  old  fisherman  waiting  for  them,  smok- 
ing his  pipe  in  the  stern  of  the  skiff,  which  was  moored 
just  in  front  of  his  little  cabin.  A  pickaxe  and  spade 
were  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  with  a  dark  lantern, 
and  a  stone  bottle  of  good  Dutch  courage,  in  which  hon- 
est Sam  no  doubt  put  even  more  faith  than  Dr.  Knipper- 
hausen  in  his  drugs. 

Thus  then  did  these  three  worthies  embark  in  their 
cockle-shell  of  a  skiff  upon  this  nocturnal  expedition,  with 
a  wisdom  and  valor  equalled  only  by  the  three  wise  men 
of  Gotham,  who  adventured  to  sea  in  a  bowl.  The  tide 
was  rising  and  running  rapidly  up  the  Sound.  The  cur- 
rent bore  them  along,  almost  without  the  aid  of  an  oar. 
The  profile  of  the  town  lay  all  in  shadow.  Here  and 
there  a  light  feebly  glimmered  from  some  sick-chamber, 
or  from  the  cabin- window  of  some  vessel  at  anchor  in  the 
stream.  Not  a  cloud  obscured  the  deep  starry  firma- 
ment, the  lights  of  which  wavered  on  the  surface  of  the 
placid  river;  and  a  shooting  meteor,  streaking  its  pale 
course  in  the  very  direction  they  were  taking,  was  inter- 
preted by  the  doctor  into  a  most  propitious  omen. 


WOLFEBT  WEBBER.  533 

In  a  little  while  they  glided  by  the  point  of  Corlaer's 
Hook  with  the  rural  inn  which  had  been  the  scene  of 
such  night  adventures.  The  family  had  retired  to  rest, 
and  the  house  was  dark  and  still.  Wolfert  felt  a  chill 
pass  over  him  as  they  passed  the  point  where  the  buc- 
caneer had  disappeared.  He  pointed  it  out  to  Dr.  Knip- 
perhausen.  While  regarding  it,  they  thought  they  saw  a 
boat  actually  lurking  at  the  very  place;  but  the  shore 
cast  such  a  shadow  over  the  border  of  the  water  that 
they  could  discern  nothing  distinctly.  They  had  not 
proceeded  far  when  they  heard  the  low  sounds  of  distant 
oars,  as  if  cautiously  pulled.  Sam  plied  his  oars  with 
redoubled  vigor,  and  knowing  all  the  eddies  and  cur- 
rents of  the  stream,  soon  left  their  followers,  if  such  they 
were,  far  astern.  In  a  little  while  they  stretched  across 
Turtle  Bay  and  Kip's  Bay,  then  shrouded  themselves  in 
the  deep  shadows  of  the  Manhattan  shore,  and  glided 
swiftly  along,  secure  from  observation.  At  length  the 
negro  shot  his  skiff  into  a  little  cove,  darkly  embowered 
by  trees,  and  made  it  fast  to  the  well-known  iron  ring. 
They  now  landed,  and  lighting  the  lantern,  gathered 
their  various  implements  and  proceeded  slowly  through 
the  bushes.  Every  sound  startled  them,  even  that  of 
their  own  footsteps  among  the  dry  leaves ;  and  the  hoot- 
ing of  a  screech  owl,  from  the  shattered  chimney  of  the 
neighboring  ruin,  made  their  blood  run  cold. 

In  spite  of  all  Wolfert' s  caution  in  taking  note  of  the 
landmarks,  it  was  some  time  before  they  could  find  the 


534  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

open  place  among  the  trees,  where  the  treasure  was  sup- 
posed to  be  buried.  At  length  they  came  to  the  ledge  of 
rock ;  and  on  examining  its  surface  by  the  aid  of  the  lan- 
tern, Wolfert  recognized  the  three  mystic  crosses.  Their 
hearts  beat  quick,  for  the  momentous  trial  was  at  hand 
that  was  to  determine  their  hopes. 

The  lantern  was  now  held  by  Wolfert  Webber,  while 
the  doctor  produced  the  divining  rod.  It  was  a  forked 
twig,  one  end  of  which  was  grasped  firmly  in  each  hand, 
while  the  centre,  forming  the  stem,  pointed  perpendicu- 
larly upwards.  The  doctor  moved  this  wand  about, 
within  a  certain  distance  of  the  earth,  from  place  to 
place,  but  for  some  time  without  any  effect,  while  Wol- 
fert kept  the  light  of  the  lantern  turned  full  upon  it,  and 
watched  it  with  the  most  breathless  interest.  At  length 
the  rod  began  slowly  to  turn.  The  doctor  grasped  it 
with  greater  earnestness,  his  hands  trembling  with  the 
agitation  of  his  mind.  The  wand  continued  to  turn 
gradually,  until  at  length  the  stem  had  reversed  its  po- 
sition, and  pointed  perpendicularly  downward,  and  re- 
mained pointing  to  one  spot  as  fixedly  as  the  needle  to 
the  pole. 

"  This  is  the  spot !  "  said  the  doctor,  in  an  almost  in- 
audible tone. 

Wolfert's  heart  was  in  his  throat. 

"  Shall  I  dig  ?  "  said  the  negro,  grasping  the  spade. 

"  Pots  tausendy  no  !  "  replied  the  little  doctor,  hastily. 
He  now  ordered  his  companions  to  keep  close  by  him, 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  535 

and  to  maintain  the  most  inflexible  silence.  That  cer- 
tain precautions  must  be  taken  and  ceremonies  used  to 
prevent  the  evil  spirits  which  kept  about  buried  treas- 
ure from  doing  them  any  harm.  He  then  drew  a  circle 
about  the  place,  enough  to  include  the  whole  party.  He 
next  gathered  dry  twigs  and  leaves  and  made  a  fire,  upon 
which  he  threw  certain  drugs  and  dried  herbs  which  he 
had  brought  in  his  basket.  A  thick  smoke  rose,  diffus- 
ing a  potent  odor,  savoring  marvellously  of  brimstone 
and  assafoetida,  which,  however  grateful  it  might  be  to 
the  olfactory  nerves  of  spirits,  nearly  strangled  poor 
Wolfert,  and  produced  a  fit  of  coughing  and  wheezing 
that  made  the  whole  grove  resound.  Dr.  Knipperhausen 
then  unclasped  the  volume  which  he  had  brought  under 
his  arm,  which  was  printed  in  red  and  black  characters 
in  German  text.  "While  Wolfert  held  the  lantern,  the 
doctor,  by  the  aid  of  his  spectacles,  read  off  several 
forms  of  conjuration  in  Latin  and  German.  He  then 
ordered  Sam  to  seize  the  pickaxe  and  proceed  to  work. 
The  close-bound  soil  gave  obstinate  signs  of  not  having 
been  disturbed  for  many  a  year.  After  having  picked 
his  way  through  the  surface,  Sam  came  to  a  bed  of  sand 
and  gravel,  which  he  threw  briskly  to  right  and  left  with 
the  spade. 

"  Hark !  "  said  "Wolfert,  who  fancied  he  heard  a  tram- 
pling among  the  dry  leaves,  and  a  rustling  through  the 
bushes.  Sam  paused  for  a  moment,  and  they  listened. 
No   footstep   was   near.      The   bat    flitted    by  them   in 


536  TALES  OF  A   TEA  VELLER. 

silence  ;  a  bird,  roused  from  its  roost  by  the  light  which 
glared  up  among  the  trees,  flew  circling  about  the  flame. 
In  the  profound  stillness  of  the  woodland,  they  could  dis- 
tinguish the  current  rippling  along  the  rocky  shore,  and 
the  distant  murmuring  and  roaring  of  Hell-gate. 

The  negro  continued  his  labors,  and  had  already 
digged  a  considerable  hole.  The  doctor  stood  on  the 
edge,  reading  formulae  every  now  and  then  from  his 
black-letter  volume,  or  throwing  more  drugs  and  herbs 
upon  the  fire  ;  while  Wolfert  bent  anxiously  over  the  pit, 
watching  every  stroke  of  the  spade.  Any  one  witnessing 
the  scene  thus  lighted  up  by  fire,  lantern,  and  the  reflec- 
tion of  Wolfert's  red  mantle,  might  have  mistaken  the 
little  doctor  for  some  foul  magician,  busied  in  his  incan- 
tations, and  the  grizzly-headed  negro  for  some  swart  gob- 
lin, obedient  to  his  commands. 

At  length  the  spade  of  the  fisherman  struck  upon 
something  that  sounded  hollow.  The  sound  vibrated 
to  "Wolfert's  heart.     He  struck  his  spade  again. — 

"  'Tis  a  chest,"  said  Sam. 

"  Full  of  gold,  I'll  warrant  it !  "  cried  Wolfert,  clasping 
his  hands  with  rapture. 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words  when  a  sound  from 
above  caught  his  ear.  He  cast  up  his  eyes,  and  lo !  by 
the  expiring  light  of  the  fire  he  beheld,  just  over  the  disk 
of  the  rock,  what  appeared  to  be  the  grim  visage  of  the 
drowned  buccaneer,  grinning  hideously  down  upon  him. 

Wolfert  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  let  fall  the  lantern.     His 


WOLFEBT  WEBBER.  537 

pamic  communicated  itself  to  his  companions.  The  negro 
leaped  out  of  the  hole  ;  the  doctor  dropped  his  book  and 
basket,  and  began  to  pray  in  German.  All  was  horror 
and  confusion.  The  fire  was  scattered  about,  the  lantern 
extinguished.  In  their  hurry-scurry  they  ran  against 
and  confounded  one  another.  They  fancied  a  legion  of 
hobgoblins  let  loose  upon  them,  and  that  they  saw,  by 
the  fitful  gleams  of  the  scattered  embers,  strange  figures, 
in  red  caps,  gibbering  and  ramping  around  them.  The 
doctor  ran  one  way,  the  negro  another,  and  Wolfert  made 
for  the  water  side.  As  he  plunged  struggling  onwards 
through  brush  and  brake,  he  heard  the  tread  of  some 
one  in  pursuit.  He  scrambled  frantically  forward.  The 
footsteps  gained  upon  him.  He  felt  himself  grasped  by 
his  cloak,  when  suddenly  his  pursuer  was  attacked  in 
turn  :  a  fierce  fight  and  struggle  ensued — a  pistol  was 
discharged  that  lit  up  rock  and  bush  for  a  second,  and 
showed  two  figures  grappling  together — all  was  then 
darker  than  ever.  The  contest  continued — the  combat- 
ants clinched  each  other,  and  panted,  and  groaned,  and 
rolled  among  the  rocks.  There  was  snarling  and  growl- 
ing as  of  a  cur,  mingled  with  curses,  in  which  "Wolfert 
fancied  he  could  recognize  the  voice  of  the  buccaneer. 
He  would  fain  have  fled,  but  he  was  on  the  brink  of  a 
precipice,  and  could  go  no  further. 

Again  the  parties  were  on  their  feet ;  again  there  was  a 
iugging  and  struggling,  as  if  strength  alone  could  decide 
the  combat,  until  one  was  precipitated  from  the  brow  ol 


538  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER 

the  cliff,  and  sent  headlong  into  the  deep  stream  that 
whirled  below.  Wolfert  heard  the  plunge,  and  a  kind  of 
strangling,  bubbling  murmur,  but  the  darkness  of  the 
night  hid  everything  from  him,  and  the  swiftness  of  the 
current  swept  everything  instantly  out  of  hearing.  One 
of  the  combatants  was  disposed  of,  but  whether  friend  or 
foe,  Wolfert  could  not  tell,  nor  whether  they  might  not 
both  be  foes.  He  heard  the  survivor  approach,  and  his 
terror  revived.  He  saw,  where  the  profile  of  the  rocks 
rose  against  the  horizon,  a  human  form  advancing.  He 
could  not  be  mistaken :  it  must  be  the  buccaneer. 
Whither  should  he  fly! — a  precipice  was  on  one  side — a 
murderer  on  the  other.  The  enemy  approached — he  was 
close  at  hand.  Wolfert  attempted  to  let  himself  down 
the  face  of  the  cliff.  His  cloak  caught  in  a  thorn  that 
grew  on  the  edge.  He  was  jerked  from  off  his  feet,  and 
held  dangling  in  the  air,  half  choked  by  the  string  with 
which  his  careful  wife  had  fastened  the  garment  around 
his  neck.  Wolfert  thought  his  last  moment  was  arrived ; 
already  had  he  committed  his  soul  to  St.  Nicholas,  when 
the  string  broke,  and  he  tumbled  down  the  bank,  bump- 
ing from  rock  to  rock,  and  bush  to  bush,  and  leaving 
the  red  cloak  fluttering  like  a  bloody  banner  in  the 
air. 

It  was  a  long  while  before  Wolfert  came  to  himself. 
When  he  opened  his  eyes,  the  ruddy  streaks  of  morning 
were  already  shooting  up  the  sky.  He  found  himself 
grievously  battered,  and  lying  in  the  bottom  of  a  boai 


WOLFEBT  WEBBER.  539 

He  attempted  to  sit  up,  but  was  too  sore  and  stiff  to 
move.  A  voice  requested  him  in  friendly  accents  to  lie 
still.  He  turned  his  eyes  towards  the  speaker :  it  was 
Dirk  Waldron.  He  had  dogged  the  party,  at  the  earnest 
request  of  Dame  Webber  and  her  daughter,  who,  with 
the  laudable  curiosity  of  their  sex,  had  pried  into  the 
secret  consultations  of  Wolfert  and  the  doctor.  Dirk  had 
been  completely  distanced  in  following  the  light  skiff  of 
the  fisherman,  and  had  just  come  in  to  rescue  the  poor 
money-digger  from  his  pursuer. 

Thus  ended  this  perilous  enterprise.  The  doctor  and 
Black  Sam  severally  found  their  way  back  to  the  Man- 
hattoes,  each  having  some  dreadful  tale  of  peril  to  relate. 
As  to  poor  Wolfert,  instead  of  returning  in  triumph 
laden  with  bags  of  gold,  he  was  borne  home  on  a  shutter, 
followed  by  a  rabble-rout  of  curious  urchins.  His  wife 
and  daughter  saw  the  dismal  pageant  from  a  distance, 
and  alarmed  the  neighborhood  with  their  cries ;  they 
thought  the  poor  man  had  suddenly  settled  the  great 
debt  of  nature  in  one  of  his  wayward  moods.  Finding 
him,  however,  still  living,  they  had  him  speedily  to  bed, 
and  a  jury  of  old  matrons  of  the  neighborhood  assembled, 
to  determine  how  he  should  be  doctored.  The  whole 
town  was  in  a  buzz  with  the  story  of  the  money-diggers. 
Many  repaired  to  the  scene  of  the  previous  night's  ad- 
ventures :  but  though  they  found  the  very  place  of  the 
digging,  they  discovered  nothing  that  compensated  them 
for  their  trouble.     Some  say  they  found  the  fragments 


540  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

of  an  oaken  chest,  and  an  iron  pot-lid,  which  savored 
strongly  of  hidden  money;  and  that  in  the  old  family 
vault  there  were  traces  of  bales  and  boxes :  but  this  is 
all  very  dubious. 

In  fact,  the  secret  of  all  this  story  has  never  to  this 
day  been  discovered  :  whether  any  treasure  were  ever 
actually  buried  at  that  place  ;  whether,  if  so,  it  were  car- 
ried off  at  night  by  those  who  had  buried  it ;  or  whether 
it  still  remains  there  under  the  guardianship  of  gnomes 
and  spirits  until  it  shall  be  properly  sought  for,  is  all 
matter  of  conjecture.  For  my  part,  I  incline  to  the  lat- 
ter opinion;  and  make  no  doubt  that  great  sums  lie 
buried,  both  there  and  in  other  parts  of  this  island  and 
its  neighborhood,  ever  since  the  times  of  the  buccaneers 
and  the  Dutch  colonists ;  and  I  would  earnestly  recom- 
mend the  search  after  them  to  such  of  my  fellow-citizens 
as  are  not  engaged  in  any  other  speculations. 

There  were  many  conjectures  formed,  also,  as  to  who 
and  what  was  the  strange  man  of  the  seas  who  had  domi- 
neered over  the  little  fraternity  at  Corlaer's  Hook  for  a 
time  ;  disappeared  so  strangely,  and  reappeared  so  fear- 
fully. Some  supposed  him  a  smuggler  stationed  at  that 
place  to  assist  his  comrades  in  landing  their  goods 
among  the  rocky  coves  of  the  island.  Others,  that  he 
was  one  of  the  ancient  comrades  of  Kidd  or  Bradish, 
returned  to  convey  away  treasures  formerly  hidden  in  the 
vicinity.  The  only  circumstance  that  throws  anything 
like  a  vague  light  on  this  mysterious  matter,  is  a  report 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  54,1 

whicli  prevailed  of  a  strange  foreign-built  shallop,  with 
much  the  look  of  a  picaroon,  having  been  seen  hovering 
about  the  Sound  for  several  days  without  landing  or  re- 
porting herself,  though  boats  were  seen  going  to  and 
from  her  at  night :  and  that  she  was  seen  standing  out  of 
the  mouth  of  the  harbor,  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  after 
the  catastrophe  of  the  money-diggers. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  another  report,  also,  which 
I  confess  is  rather  apocryphal,  of  the  buccaneer,  who 
was  supposed  to  have  been  drowned,  being  seen  before 
daybreak  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  seated  astride  of 
his  great  sea-chest,  and  sailing  through  Hell-gate,  which 
just  then  began  to  roar  and  bellow  with  redoubled  fury. 

While  all  the  gossip  world  was  thus  filled  with  talk 
and  rumor,  poor  Wolfert  lay  sick  and  sorrowfully  in  his 
bed,  bruised  in  body  and  sorely  beaten  down  in  mind. 
His  wife  and  daughter  did  all  they  could  to  bind  up  his 
wounds,  both  corporal  and  spiritual.  The  good  old  dame 
never  stirred  from  his  bedside,  where  she  sat  knitting 
from  morning  till  night ;  while  his  daughter  busied  her- 
self about  him  with  the  fondest  care.  Nor  did  they  lack 
assistance  from  abroad.  "Whatever  may  be  said  of  the 
desertion  of  friends  in  distress,  they  had  no  complaint  of 
the  kind  to  make.  Not  an  old  wife  of  the  neighborhood 
but  abandoned  her  work  to  crowd  to  the  mansion  of  Wol- 
fert Webber,  to  inquire  after  his  health,  and  the  particu- 
lars of  his  story.  Not  one  came  moreover  without  her 
little  pipkin  of  pennyroyal,  sage,  balm,  or  other  herb  tea, 


542  TALES  OF  A  TRAVELLER. 

deliglited  at  an  opportunity  of  signalizing  her  kindness 
and  her  doctorship.  What  drenchings  did  not  the  poor 
Wolfert  undergo,  and  all  in  vain !  It  was  a  moving  sight 
to  behold  him  wasting  away  day  by  day ;  growing  thin- 
ner and  thinner,  and  ghastlier  and  ghastlier,  and  staring 
with  rueful  visage  from  under  an  old  patchwork  coun- 
terpane, upon  the  jury  of  matrons  kindly  assembled  to 
sigh  and  groan  and  look  unhappy  around  him. 

Dirk  Waldron  was  the  only  being  that  seemed  to  shed 
a  ray  of  sunshine  into  this  house  of  mourning.  He  came 
in  with  cheery  look  and  manly  spirit,  and  tried  to  reani- 
mate the  expiring  heart  of  the  poor  money-digger,  but  it 
was  all  in  vain.  Wolfert  was  completely  done  over.  If 
anything  was  wanting  to  complete  his  despair,  it  was  a 
notice  served  upon  him  in  the  midst  of  his  distress,  that 
the  corporation  were  about  to  run  a  new  street  through 
the  very  centre  of  his  cabbage-garden.  He  now  saw 
nothing  before  him  but  poverty  and  ruin ;  his  last  reli- 
ance, the  garden  of  his  forefathers,  was  to  be  laid  waste, 
and  what  then  was  to  become  of  his  poor  wife  and 
child? 

His  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  they  followed  the  dutiful 
Amy  out  of  the  room  one  morning.  Dirk  Waldron  was 
seated  beside  him ;  Wolfert  grasped  his  hand,  pointed 
after  his  daughter,  and  for  the  first  time  since  his  illness, 
broke  the  silence  he  had  maintained. 

"  I  am  going  ! "  said  he,  shaking  his  head  feebly,  "  and 
when  I  am  gone — my  poor  daughter  " 


WOLFERT  WEBBER.  54,3 

**  Leave  her  to  me,  father !  "  said  Dirk,  manfully, — "  I'll 
take  care  of  her !  " 

Wolfert  looked  up  in  the  face  of  the  cheery,  strapping 
youngster,  and  saw  there  was  none  better  able  to  take 
care  of  a  woman. 

"  Enough,"  said  he, — "  she  is  yours  ! — and  now  fetch 
me  a  lawyer — let  me  make  my  will  and  die." 

The  lawyer  was  brought — a  dapper,  bustling,  round- 
headed  little  man,  Eoorback  (or  EoUebuck  as  it  was  pro- 
nounced) by  name.  At  the  sight  of  him  the  women  broke 
into  loud  lamentations,  for  they  looked  upon  the  signing 
of  a  will  as  the  signing  of  a  death-warrant.  Wolfert 
made  a  feeble  motion  for  them  to  be  silent.  Poor  Amy 
buried  her  face  and  her  grief  in  the  bed-curtain.  Dame 
Webber  resumed  her  knitting  to  hide  her  distress,  which 
betrayed  itself  however  in  a  pellucid  tear,  which  trickled 
silently  down,  and  hung  at  the  end  of  her  peaked  nose ; 
while  the  cat,  the  only  unconcerned  member  of  the  fam- 
ily, played  with  the  good  dame's  ball  of  worsted,  as  it 
rolled  about  the  floor. 

Wolfert  lay  on  his  back,  his  night-cap  drawn  over  his 
forehead ;  his  eyes  closed ;  his  whole  visage  the  picture 
of  death.  He  begged  the  lawyer  to  be  brief,  for  he  felt 
his  end  approaching,  and  that  he  had  no  time  to  lose. 
The  lawyer  nibbed  his  pen,  spread  out  his  paper,  and 
prepared  to  write. 

"  I  give  and  bequeath,"  said  Wolfert,  faintly,  "  my 
small  farm" 


544  TALES  OF  A    TBA  VELLEB. 

"  What — all !  "  exclaimed  the  lawyer. 

Wolfert  half  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  upon  the 
lawyer. 

"  Yes — all,"  said  he. 

"  What!  all  that  great  patch  of  land  with  cabbages  and 
sun-flowers,  which  the  corporation  is  just  going  to  run  a 
main  street  through  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  said  Wolfert,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  and 
sinking  back  upon  his  pillow. 

"  I  wish  him  joy  that  inherits  it !  "  said  the  little  law- 
yer, chuckling,  and  rubbing  his  hands  involuntarily. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Wolfert,  again  opening  his 
eyes. 

"  That  he'll  be  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  place !  " 
cried  little  RoUebuck. 

The  expiring  Wolfert  seemed  to  step  back  from  the 
threshold  of  existence  :  his  eyes  again  lighted  up ;  he 
raised  himself  in  his  bed,  shoved  back  his  red  worsted 
night-cap,  and  stared  broadly  at  the  lawyer. 

"  You  don't  say  so !  "  exclaimed  he. 

"Faith,  but  I  do!"  rejoined  the  other. — "Why,  when 
that  great  field  and  that  huge  meadow  come  to  be  laid 
out  in  streets,  and  cut  up  into  snug  building-lots — why, 
whoever  owns  it  need  not  pull  off  his  hat  to  the  pa- 
troon ! " 

"  Say  you  so  ?  "  cried  Wolfert,  half  thrusting  one  leg 
out  of  bed,   "  why,  then  I  think  I'll  not  make  my  will  yet !  " 

To  the  surprise  of  everybody  the  dying  man  actually 


WOLFEBT  WEBBER.  545 

recovered.  The  vital  spark,  which  had  glimmered  faintly 
in  the  socket,  received  fresh  fuel  from  the  oil  of  glad- 
ness, which  the  little  lawyer  poured  into  his  soul.  It 
once  more  burnt  up  into  a  flame. 

Give  physic  to  the  heart,  ye  who  would  revive  the 
body  of  a  spirit-broken  man  !  In  a  few  days  Wolfert  left 
his  room ;  in  a  few  days  more  his  table  was  covered  with 
deeds,  plans  of  streets,  and  building-lots.  Little  Kolle- 
buck  was  constantly  with  him,  his  right-hand  man  and 
adviser ;  and  instead  of  making  his  will,  assisted  in  the 
more  agreeable  task  of  making  his  fortune.  In  fact  Wol- 
fert Webber  was  one  of  those  worthy  Dutch  burghers  of 
the  Manhattoes  whose  fortunes  have  been  made,  in  a 
manner,  in  spite  of  themselves  ;  who  have  tenaciously 
held  on  to  their  hereditary  acres,  raising  turnips  and 
cabbages  about  the  skirts  of  the  city,  hardly  able  to 
make  both  ends  meet,  until  the  corporation  has  cruelly 
driven  streets  through  their  abodes,  and  they  have  sud- 
denly awakened  out  of  their  lethargy,  and,  to  their  aston- 
ishment, found  themselves  rich  men. 

Before  many  months  had  elapsed,  a  great  bustling 
street  passed  through  the  very  centre  of  the  Webber 
garden,  just  where  Wolfert  had  dreamed  of  finding  a 
treasure.  His  golden  dream  was  accomplished ;  he  did 
indeed  find  an  unlooked-for  source  of  wealth  ;  for,  when 
his  paternal  lands  were  distributed  into  building-lots, 
and  rented  out  to  safe  tenants,  instead  of  producing  a 
paltry  crop  of  cabbages,  they  returned  him  an  abundant 


546  TALES  OF  A  TEA  VELLER. 

crop  of  rent;  insomuch  that  on  quarter-day  it  was  a 
goodly  sight  to  see  his  tenants  knocking  at  the  door, 
from  morning  till  night,  each  with  a  little  round-bellied 
bag  of  money,  a  golden  produce  of  the  soil. 

The  ancient  mansion  of  his  forefathers  was  still  kept 
up  ;  but  instead  of  being  a  little  yellow-fronted  Dutch 
house  in  a  garden,  it  now  stood  boldly  in  the  midst  of  a 
street,  the  grand  home  of  the  neighborhood  ;  for  Wolfert 
enlarged  it  with  a  wing  on  each  side,  and  a  cupola  or 
tea-room  on  top,  where  he  might  climb  up  and  smoke 
his  pipe  in  hot  weather ;  and  in  the  course  of  time  the 
whole  mansion  was  overrun  by  the  chubby-faced  pro- 
geny of  Amy  Webber  and  Dirk  Waldron. 

As  Wolfert  waxed  old,  and  rich,  and  corpulent,  he  also 
set  up  a  great  gingerbread- colored  carriage,  drawn  by 
a  pair  of  black  Flanders  mares  with  tails  that  swept  the 
ground;  and  to  commemorate  the  origin  of  his  great- 
ness, he  had  for  his  crest  a  full-blown  cabbage  painted 
on  the  panels,  with  the  pithy  motto  ^lles  Eopf^  that  is 
to  say,  ALL  HEAD ;  meaning  thereby  that  he  had  risen  by 
sheer  head-work. 

To  fill  the  measure  of  his  greatness,  in  the  fulness  of 
time  the  renowned  Ramm  Rapelye  slept  with  his  fathers, 
and  Wolfert  Webber  succeeded  to  the  leather-bottomed 
arm-chair,  in  the  inn-parlor  at  Corlaer's  Hook  ;  where 
he  long  reigned  greatly  honored  and  respected,  insomuch 
that  he  was  never  known  to  tell  a  story  without  its  being 
believed,  nor  to  utter  a  joke  without  its  being  laughed  at. 

THE    END. 


.v: 


